


It's In His DNA

by Leah_Hansen



Category: Darkest Powers - Kelley Armstrong
Genre: Chlerek - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 42,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leah_Hansen/pseuds/Leah_Hansen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it took was one detention together. One detention for everything as she knew it to unravel -- all because of him. Of Derek Souza.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Their Paths Cross

**Author's Note:**

> Most of my works are originally on FF.net under the same title as they are on here. "Its In His DNA" is still "It's In His DNA."

01

Chloe Saunders had never been the type of her to get in trouble or to attract it.

No, she never spoke out of turn or back-talked; her work was always handed in on time, and she did her chores without complaint.

She was a nice girl with flat strawberry blonde hair, eyes the same shade of a clear summer sky, and skin the color of porcelain with a splash of freckles that show up if she sat in the sun for more then ten minutes. She was tiny, with little to no curves to speak of, barely ninety pounds soaking wet.

So, with all that going for her, how on earth was Chloe sitting in detention with the number one asshole Royce Banks?

He kept sending her sly glances, making her skin prickle uncomfortably as she worked on her algebra homework.

The only sound in the room the teacher's heavy mouth breathing, the scratching of her pencil and the eraser tearing the corner of her math paper.

"You know," said Royce; startled, with a jump, she looked at him.

He was about medium height, with a lanky build and slight muscles. His long, wavy brown hair curled around his face, reminding her of an evil Cherub with dark brown eyes that stared at her chest the entire time he  spoke to her, and bronze skin. He wore a smarmy smile that said he thought he was hot and could get anything he had his eye on. Apparently, he had his eye on  _ her _ .

Chloe took a deep breath, shoved down the erratic panic and the clock ticked away, and she matched her breathing with it.

"You're really pretty," he drawled, his eyes languidly rolling over her. "Big blue eyes, pretty blonde hair, plump pink lips."

The way he talked made her skin crawl.

"How 'bout you and I get to know each other?"

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head furiously and then returned to the last algebra problem. She added a negative two to each side of the lower equation and began to use elimination to find the x value.

Royce leaned in closer, the sharp smell of rum and cigar smoke burning Chloe's eyes.

"No thanks." Her voice, surprisingly, was calm and strong as she rejected him.

His face twisted unpleasantly. "No?" His voice was laced with anger. "Nobody says _no_ to me."

"She just did, Banks, now back off," calmly replied a new voice that made her relax and she turned to look at the other boy. He was absolutely  _ massive _ , dwarfing the chair easily, but he looked as menacing as he did when he  was walking.  She’d seen him around; he was hard to miss.

His frame was large and muscular, the linebacker type that she admired from afar. His hair was a shock of black that fell lank into his green eyes and his skin was the color of ivory, aside from the flushed acne on his cheeks.

Despite how huge this guy was, she felt far safer with him than Royce, who was gripping her wrist tightly.

She squeaked in pain."Let me go!" she whispered furiously, her heart crashing against her chest.

"No, Blondie," Royce hissed in a deadly voice.

Without thinking, she dug her nails into his wrist, and he snarled, retreating.

"Kitten's got claws, which I like, but you'll have to pay for hurting me," he whispered, eyes burning with hate.

"Not before you go through me," said the green-eyed boy.

She glanced at his muscles and compared the two; Royce was leaner than him and less muscular and the green-eyed boy could definitely take him on with just strength alone.

"You may go," the mouth-breathing teacher announced sleepily from the desk, and Chloe kept her eyes on Royce's figure until he disappeared out the door. Once he did, she turned to her "savior."   


"Thank you," she said softly, mouth going dry when he looked at her.

"Royce won't stop until he has you," the boy answered with a shrug.

"I'm, um, Chloe." Her mind was racing when calm and startlingly green eyes met hers.

"The name's Derek." His voice was a low, throaty rumble that made her shiver.

"Guys!" squealed a voice and she was hugged hard from the side.

"Simon," sighed Derek, looking a bit annoyed.

The blonde boy pulled back, looked between them and grinned. "It's the happy couple!"

Chloe squeaked quietly; Derek grunted, as the tips of his ears turn red; and Simon giggled (yes, the captain of the basketball team  _ giggled _ ).

"Simon!" Liz, a bundle of blonde hair and Gap jeans, ran in, hand-in-hand with Tori, the complete opposite with spiky black hair and chunky black boots.

"So you've met Derek," mused the Goth girl with a smirk, crossing her arms over her large breasts.

"Do you guys know him?" Chloe asked, confused, as Simon giggled even louder.

"He's my brother, have I never talked about him to you?"

She looked between Derek, tall, dark, brooding, and Simon, tall, light and bubbly, trying to make the connection.

"Twins," muttered Derek and a laugh escaped her mouth. His full, pink lips twisted into a ghost of a smile.

Simon gasped. "You made him smile!" he shrieked as they made their way out of the detention room.

Someone purposefully bumped into her, making her stumble and hit the lockers.

"Just wait 'til I get you alone," hissed a voice and then Royce's lean body was pressed against her back, making her whimper.

"Royce," said a curt voice, cold and cruel and she looked up, trembling to the point of her stomach aching, into Derek's blazing eyes.

Simon looked ready to beat Royce to bloody pulp, and Tori was eyeballing her nails as if trying to decide if they'll tear into his skin cleanly or raggedly.

"Next time, bitch," snarled Royce, and he shoved Chloe hard into the lockers.

Before she could so much as blink, Derek had Royce by the shirt collar and was pressing him into the lockers. Their eyes met, Derek's burning with fury, Royce's wide with fear; she could feel Derek radiating heat.

Tentatively, she laid a hand on Derek's elbow, and he blinked several times. He dropped Royce unceremoniously on the floor, turned on his heel and his head dipped down so his eyes could stare into hers.

Someone made a catcall.

"You ass," she muttered as she saw Nate's flaming hair and grinning face. His chubby cheeks looked flushed.

"I always get what I want," Royce drawled from the floor.

Chloe scowled. "You can't have me," she snapped, surprised with her boldness.

His smile was greasy and oily and scared her as he got up. He suddenly pinned her, her head hitting the lockers loud enough to ring, and his smile was too close.

She panicked, clawing at him and her nails raked down the side of his face.

With a curse, he pulled away, hand cupping the bleeding lines.

Chloe managed to stumble away before his fist connected with the lockers loudly.

She trembled.

"You're going to be sorry, you skinny bitch!" he snarled, and she blinked back hot tears.

"Your fight is with me, not her, Banks," Derek growled coldly, his eyes glowering out from behind his thick bangs.

"The little bitch scratched me, Souza! She'll get what's coming for turning down Royce Banks." The skinny boy stomped away and disappeared around the corner.

Silence wove delicately.

Chloe wrapped her arms around herself, sucked in a shaky breath. She couldn't get enough air and she feels faint; her breathing was short and choppy. A ragged rattling crawled out of her mouth that barely passed as a breath as sweat broke out over her skin, making her feel colder than she already was.

"Chloe?"

She swayed dangerously, her legs weak, her heart pounding in hyper drive.

Derek's melodic voice was far away, fading into nothingness as tears stung her face.

They carved hot trails into her cheeks as she trembled and hyperventilated. She could barely feel the hands gripping her elbow tightly, let alone see the boy holding her; all she could feel was the icy cold closing in on her. It seeped into her lungs, froze them and slowly turned her into an icicle. Her blood turned to ice water, her lungs frost, her skin frozen crystals of frosty sweat. 

"Ch…" 

She swayed again, a snowflake dancing in the bitter breeze and drifted into the sky.

The sky was hard tiles.


	2. In Which Chloe Has A Dead Mother

02

  
Chloe’s mouth tasted like rusted metal when she woke up. Everything was blurry, a grimy film over her eyes; every inch of her body was tender, sore, so sore, in fact, even turning her head to the side hurt so she stared up at the ceiling; and she felt weak, too weak to even lift her head up to take in her surroundings. She blinked rapidly to regain clear sight, but her eyes still felt puffy and gritty.

She peered around at her surroundings. 

The room was pale blue with undertones of blue-green at the bottom of the walls; the ceiling was high, painted to look like a clear blue sky. The bed she was lying on was pretty soft, downy; the blankets green and black; the sheets grey and blue. Her pillow smelled like cinnamon and lavender.

Chloe rolled to her side, her eyes widening at the sight of her father beside her.

"Asthma attack," he muttered, stroking her cheek.

She felt a spasm of confusion. "I haven't had one since—"

"Since your mother died," he supplied softly, his face drawn, and he suddenly looked years older, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Chloe turned her head away so she wouldn't have to see his wrinkled face and grey hair.

"I know," he added in an even softer voice.

She couldn't look at him, especially knowing that he saw her mom in her.

There was a knock on the door, and Simon all but skipped in, dragging Derek behind him. She could feel her throat constrict at the sight of the giant, threatening tears. "You're awake!" Simon said, before smothering her in a grass-scented hug and she wrapped her weightless arms around him. He felt solid beneath her fingertips, hard and humming with energy but her eyelids were so, so heavy with the grit of sleep.

"Yeah," she managed to whisper.

He let out a shrill noise that sounded like a mix of a laugh and a giggle.

She relaxed against the pillows, inhaling the scent that was so familiar and comforting but then he pulled away.

"I didn't know you had asthma.” Simon pouted mockingly, tugging on one of her curls.

Now that she was close to him, she could see the slight stubble on his jaw, the light bruising under his eyes and the fear behind his eyes. His hair stuck up on one side like he'd been sleeping on a desk; there was a drool mark splashed next to the corner of his mouth and a red mark on his eyebrow.

"I had it when I was a kid," she explained, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.

"Well, I'm diabetic," he pointed out after a moment, his eyes meeting hers; the smile he gave her didn't reach his eyes.

"We thought you had a panic attack," Derek rumbled, looking out of place in his black-on-black ensemble. He looked good, though (really good), in the tight black tee and tight black jeans that showed off his long legs.

"Me too," she mumbled, noticing how long her nails are, and pretending to be very engrossed in studying them.

For the longest time, no one said anything; Derek moved closer and stared down at her unnervingly; Simon made a beeline out of the room, claiming he needs to pee; and Steve slipped out for coffee. "You'll need some," he laughed with a pained smile on his face but, when he turned to leave, the smile fell away and he slipped out, a broken man yearning for his wife, dead for twelve years.

"He told me I look like her," she admitted quietly after a while, staring at the door frame.

Derek shifted, his warmth spilling onto her skin, and she breathed out the breath she'd been holding to pass time.

"My mom had the prettiest, curliest hair," Chloe explained, "and the clearest blue eyes I'd ever seen." Her hands came up, her fingers working through the gnarled mess of tangles and bedhead; she laughed softly whenever her fingers caught on the knots.

"When I was little, my mom got cancer. She was too far gone to seek treatment and she died while I was in first grade. I remember some lady in a red pantsuit came in, whispered in my teacher's ear and I left. I was worried; did I do something wrong? Had something happened to my dad?"

The laughing was bordering on hysterical now, the strained edge belying her smile.

"They brought in the counselor, sat me down and she told me, looking in my eyes, 'Chloe, you're mother's dead.' At first, it didn't register, you know?" She bit her lip until she tasted blood, bit even harder, and began to twist her nappy hair. "It was like I was shocked with electricity, cold ripping through me. I started laughing, thinking it was a joke but then when I saw my dad come in, his eyes red and his nose pink like he'd been blowing his nose…I knew." She bowed her head. "He kept staring at me, wide-eyed, and then he burst into tears. Kept crying and crying until he got sick."

There was silence from the boy in front of her.

"He sat down in a chair and held his head. He never even looked up. 'You look like your mother,' he told me—er, rather he told the table."

She closed her eyes and hid her face in the pillow. A soft hand caressed her hair, feather light, working gentle fingers through the tangles.

"He must be reminded of your mother," said Derek.

She shrugged him off. "Or maybe he just hates me."

A short intake of breath from him, an exhale, and then: "I'm sure he doesn't."

"I'm sure he does. He hates me because I look like her."

Derek paused, obviously torn. "He's probably just tired," he said.

"Tired of me,” Chloe muttered.

His warm breath tickled her ear. "I'm sure no one can be tired of you, Chloe."

The door opened, slammed shut and then the smell of coffee wafted in along with the bitter, icy chill of winter.

"I thought her dad was going to get coffee." Derek frowned at his brother. It was Simon, flush-faced and looking a bit wide-eyed, not her father, holding the coffee tray.

"Nah. He's outside talking to some blonde lady. I needed my insulin so I decided to grab some stuff."

She pulled her face out of the pillow to stare at him, heart in her throat. "Blonde woman? Was she wearing a doctor's coat?"

Just as the words spilled from her lips, the door slammed open. "Chloe!" shrilled a voice, high-pitched with a Boston accent, unmistakable; Aunt Lauren was here.


	3. In Which There is a Lot of Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1, 2, 3, 4) -- All directly lifted from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, for the purpose of Derek reading to Peter. No plagiarism intended.

03

"'Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared before him(1).'" Like every night, Derek read to his young nephew -- tonight was Harry Potter since they'd been binging the movies all night. He licked his finger and turned the page, watching his nephew's sleepy face.

"'Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as a by a veil. Thought had returned to the mortal land, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. And so Death took the second brother for his own (2)."

The little bundle of brown hair stirred.

"Hermione's a nerd," sighed his nephew.

"Peter, she's just a character." Derek ran his fingers through the child's unruly hair and he smiled, continuing to read. 

"Still, to have a stone that could bring back the dead would be awesome," the boy gushed.

"It's almost ten, you should sleep," the teenager muttered, knowing the little boy would throw a fit rather than sleep.

"Just finish the story," begged Peter.

Derek sighed and continued. "'But though Death searched for the third brother  for many years, he was never able to find him (3)'—"

"He's playing hide and seek!"

Derek gave him a hard look.

"Sorry."

"—'It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life (4).'"

Peter, his eyelids bobbing, yawned and looked sleepily at his teenage uncle.

Derek tucked his nephew in further, kissed his forehead and shut off the light. "Nox," he said with a smile as the light flickered out.

"Goodnight, Derek."

"Good day, Peter."

* * *

Derek sat on his bed, staring at the shirt bundled in his hands, fists tight. He closed his eyes and an image of her face as she slept—long, pale eyelashes, porcelain skin, pale blue veins, and tangled hair swimming around her tiny face—was the last thing he thought of before he surrendered to sleep.

He dreamed of a wolf snarling and pinning a doe with her baby blue eyes.

* * *

His alarm had barely finished the first beep when his hand flew up and slammed the snooze button and rolled over. The sun had yet to peak and all he could see was the dark, rich sky twinkling with stars. Moonlight poured down onto him as he pulled off his comforter and stripped off his shorts. Naked, he gathered his running clothes and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

While the water heated, he brushed his teeth twice, scrubbed his face free of the drowsiness of sleep and stared his reflection. His hair was black and lank and oily under the harsh fluorescent light above him; his eyes were a vibrant green that made people think he wore colored contacts and his skin was as pale as marble.

He ran his fingers through his hair with a frown as he felt the greasy texture. He had no doubt Chloe's was soft, not greasy or lank, and then pushed the thought out of his mind as he stepped under the boiling spray.

* * *

Chloe breathed in the cool, earthy air as she ran, her feet hitting the ground in a familiar pattern. Her mind was whirring, thoughts and voices swirling around and around in her brain.

She thought of Derek, his gentle words calming her when she let out all the pain with her cruel words about herself; Simon with his sulky escape; Aunt Lauren's babying that she hated so much; her father's refusal to look her in the eye; Liz's bright, bubbly chatter that made her mad and Tori's threat to claw Royce's smug face into pieces. She thought of her mother, whom she rarely though of because of the pain, and rolled around the idea of her still living.

 _We'd be a happy little family,_ she mused as she jumped over a half-rotted log and ducked under a low-hanging branch. Her breathing came easy, as she ran every day since her mother passed to help clear her head which was all too full too often, but her skin was hot and sticky with sweat. She dug her feet into the soft ground, pushing harder with her legs.

She followed the flow of the trail, focusing on the burn in her calves, the thrum of blood in her pulse, the pounding in her ears. She patted the sweat from her forehead with her wrist and continued, her gaze on her feet. _One, two, three, one, two, three. It's kind of like dancing._ She jogged around a fallen tree. _One, two, three, count like that,_ she told herself. _I still remember when she and I used to race down the hill, our legs carrying us as fast they could. I always won, even if I slipped and slid down the hillside. I won._

Chloe was startled out of her reminiscing when she saw a flash beside her, as pale as moonlight. Her step faltered and she caught her toe on a tree root, crashing face-first into the damp earth. Her head spun from the fall and she lay still for a moment, the blood rushing in her ears, heart thumping so loudly, it almost drowned out the sound of the light drizzle.

Her thighs quaked and trembled as she pushed herself up, brushing off her tank top absently. "Stupid tree root," she spat, wiping her mouth free of debris. Her knee throbbed and she glanced down, grimacing at the reddened flesh that threatened to bleed. When she got to her feet, she wiped down her legs carefully, stretched a bit, and continued to run.

Running was all she had.

She fell into the rhythm again but, before she could really lose herself again, she heard a voice that startled her.

"I though asthmatics had to stay _away_ from physical exertion."

And that's how Chloe found herself face-to-face with Derek, soaked in sweat, chugging from a water bottle clutched firmly in his hand.


	4. In Which They Run in Pairs

04

The first few seconds were awkward. "Hello," Chloe said slowly, her mouth feeling dry as she reached down for her backpack and pulled out her water bottle. "Where's Simon?"

"He doesn't run. He gets enough exercise during soccer matches."

There was an awkward silence as she drank her fill of water. She tilted the lid to him. "Want some?" she found herself asking.

_Bad Chloe, don't antagonize him._

_I'm_ not _._

"Nah," he said, wiping his forehead off with his arm. He smelled strongly of sweat but not bad like BO, just musky sweat.

She shifted, her knee throbbing from the tumble she'd taken.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, leaning close. His green eyes shimmered.

"Running."

"Don't you have asthma?" His voice wasn't curious or condescending; it was politely closed off.

"Yeah but my asthma doesn't act up when I run." She was sweating profusely, sweat running down her chest, her back, her thighs were sticky. Her hair was sticking to her face and skin, no doubt damp from the light drizzle.

He looked down at her, arms crossed over his chest.

"I'll see you later?" she tried quietly, feeling extremely self-conscious of her sweaty body and skinned knee.

There was a sharp jerk of his head as he stretched out his hamstrings. "Run with me," he said, surprising her.

"What?" She stared at him, wide-eyed with surprise.

"Run with me," he repeated with an air that made her pulse pick up.

_He might try something._

He might not.

_What if he's just like Royce?_

Didn't he defend you _against_ Royce?

Chloe took a deep breath to calm the voices bouncing back and forth in her head, staring into his toxic eyes. "A-a-ar-re you sure I-I won't bother you?"

He shrugged. "If you can keep up with me, we'll be golden." He scooped up her backpack and hoisted it over one of his shoulders, looking at her.

"Gold like Ponyboy." Was that a minuscule tilt of his lips she saw? Why did she have to be such a dork and quote _The Outsiders_?

She stretched out her quads and hamstrings, taking deep breaths. She could feel his eyes on her, hot and unreadable as ever, but chose to ignore it; he was probably staring at the sweat on her t-shirt.

"Here." He handed her a bottle of peroxide and a large bandage. "Take care of that knee." He was staring at her as she poured the liquid on, hissing when it fizzed.

She waited for the bubbling to die down before applying the bandage, trying her best to ignore his eyes.

"Ready."

He turned and, without warning, started running. It took her a few seconds to fall back into the pattern but eventually she did, her muscles aching sweetly, her body moving, sweat dripping on her skin, soaking her clothes, the light rain cooling down her hot body. She was too focused on breathing to pay attention to Derek or what he was saying.

 _This is what running is like when you really get into it,_ her mother had told her the year she began running. Her mother had sat in her porch chair, watching Bluejays and Robins swoop all over the place, sipping lukewarm ice tea that had been sitting in the sun the entire Chloe was gone for. She was dressed in a pretty shirt and a pair of shorts, the veins in her legs very visible, her skin translucent. She still smiled as Chloe wiped the sweat from her forehead and kissed her mother's cheek.

She tasted like death. Her life was slipping away and Chloe could see it taking a toll on her father each day; he hardly came home during those last few days. She could hear him crying at night; afraid to lose the woman he loved.

Chloe's feet hit something and she lurched forward, hitting the forest ground. Her hands stung and her face was burning with sweat and heat. Blinking dazedly, she looked up and found Derek above her, sweat dripping from his pores, his hair soaked and his shorts clinging to his muscular thighs.

"You really need to watch where you're going when you run," he said as she wiped off her face, hoping he didn't notice she'd been crying. She did that sometimes, crying without realizing it as she ran, her brain looping an old memory of her mother, that same memory mostly, her mother smiling, her cheek tasting like death, musky and cold and earthy.

"We should get back. It's getting dark," he suggested as she got to her feet.

She groaned as she realized her legs felt like jelly and there was an ache in her back that told her she really was out of shape, despite running everyday. "Y-yeah."

She brushed back her hair and began to backtrack. "Wait, Chloe." She paused and that's when she heard it: laughter, loud, boisterous female laughter. She froze as one laugh rose above the rest, a familiar laugh at that. She screwed her eyes shut.

"My, my, what do we have here?" asked a once friendly voice now filled with malice and hate.

She could feel the heat of Derek behind her, against her back and she told herself to breathe calmly, act like everything was fine. "J-j-ju-just a qu-quick ru-u-un," she squeaked out, hating herself for the stutter as Rae's cold, rust-colored eyes met hers.

Her copper curls were arranged in a high ponytail, sleeked back with hair gel and held up by a big, Lyle High School bow. She wore a halter that was daring even for her, an extremely tight pencil skirt and impossible high heels, teetering on sky high. Her golden skin had gotten darker since the last time they spoke, and her face was hidden impossibly long lashes and her red-lipped smile unsettled Chloe.

"Who's _this_?" asked Rae with an evil sparkle in her eye, adjusting her posture in a way more appealing to the male eye, if the catcalls behind her were any indication.

"De-De-De-ee—"

"Shut up, St-Stu-Stutter Girl," snapped one of Rae's minions, a gorgeous girl with red hair named Mila.

Chloe shrank back but Derek put his hands on her arms and griped her tightly, not hard like Royce would but firmly, enough to tell her to stand her ground.

"Not interested," Derek said in a short grunt.

Rae's eyes flared with anger. "What?" she asked in a deadly tone that promised unspeakable pain and humiliation for Chloe, no doubt.

"I said I'm not interested in you or your friends," he said again, clearer and slower this time, enunciating each word as though he were sounding them out for the first time.

Anger twisted Rae's face.

"D-D-De-erek!" Chloe whispered, turning to face with fear and horror in her eyes.

His face gave away nothing; his eyes flickered for a second and then it was gone, too fast for her to figure out.

"You better watch your back, Saundersl," hissed Rae.

"Was that a threat or a promise, Rodgers?" asked Derek.

"Shut up, you little orphan freaks!" shrieked Mila.

His face darkened, angered with something inhuman, and Chloe's heart seized in her chest as she felt his muscles tighten, hard and heavy and hot against her hands. "D-D-De-erek!"

Her fear was overwhelming but her fear for the girls' well being (despite them being total and utter evil bitches to her) was more so.

He turned abruptly, causing Chloe to fall to the floor, and he walked away, not an ounce of anger in his presence, just calm, cold blankness.

Not wanting to be alone with the evil girl, Chloe scrambled to her feet and hurried after his retreating back, hearing Rae yell after her: "WATCH YOUR BACK, FREAKSHOW!"

 

 

The two of them walked in silence, Derek's more brooding, Chloe's worried and freaking out. Her tangled hair was dripping cold water down her back from the rain, and she was trembling from the encounter with Rae.

How could things have went from best friends forever to the mean "I hate you, go kill yourself"s she got when Rae spotted her in the hallways?

"I-I-I'm so-so-orry about that," she whispered, her voice hoarse and too soft.

He didn't say anything so she figured he was thinking how weird she was and how right Rae was and how he could stop talking to Chloe without looking like a jerk. "Th-th-hank y-you f-fo-or st-sta-and-anding up f-for m-me."

"You need to learn to stand up for yourself," he told her, not looking at her but up at the sky, rain washing down gently, lightly, splattering off his handsome face.

She looked at him.

He was soaked with rain and sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes closed, eyelashes long and thick, his chest rising and falling. Her backpack was resting at his feet, and she quickly picked it up, praying it didn't get ruined.

She quickly unzipped it and sighed in relief; the picture she kept was still safe, dry and untainted by the elements. She stroked her mother's smiling face and smiled back weakly; she missed her dearly.

"And, as for standing up for you, well, someone's got to." He turned to her then, brushing back his hair and he looked so different, his face wide and pale and pick-marked with acne scars that she hadn't noticed before.

"S-sa-same t-ti-time to-tomor-orrow?" she squeaked.

He gave her a look that she couldn't decipher and that's when her porch light flickered on; her father wasn't home and the housekeeper was gone so that left—

"I see you, Chloe!" her aunt yelled, but she wasn't angry it seemed, more taunting than anything, and Chloe wanted to sink to the ground in a puddle of embarrassment.

"Bye, Chloe."

He turned and jogged away, and she stayed there, her heart pounding.

"D-Derek! Wait!" His form paused, did a U turn and doubled back.

She scrambled for a pen and tore off a sheet of paper. "Here!" She was surprised at how bold she was being as she scribbled the numbers down.

"This is?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"M-My number…" she said softly, feeling her cheeks heat up.

He shook his head, spraying water everywhere, before he turned and jogged off again, his back soaked with sweat and water.

"Who was that?" Aunt Lauren asked as Chloe stumbled up the steps, kicked off her shoes and wringing out her hair on the porch.

Suddenly, she was very tired and very scared. He'd ultimately endowed Rae's wrath and set Chloe up for more humiliation. Her legs ached and her body was cold from the rain. "Nobody, Aunt Lauren, nobody," Chloe sighed, shivering.

Lauren rolled her eyes.

"Does this Nobody have a real name?"

"He's Simon's brother." Chloe was walking up the stairs, sore and tired but happy.

"Simon? The boy dating Nate?" She was grinning when she asked this; surprisingly, after her mother's death, Chloe found Aunt Lauren was very open about people.

"Yes."

"Maybe he think you're cute," the doctor laughed with a wink.

"Yeah right!" replied the girl as she stepped into her room. "Night, Aunt Lauren!"

"Night, Chloe!"

After along, hot shower and attempts of not thinking about how nice Derek's eyes were, Chloe tossed on an oversized shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. Laying on top of her blankets because it was too hot inside, she let her mind wonder to him, figuring it was useless to try and stop.

Burying her face in her pillow, she slowly sank into sleep to the memory of his body against her back filling her head, along with his exotic, sexy eyes.


	5. In Which the Hurt is Left Behind

05

For the next few days, they ran quietly, her chattering (more like suttering) absently. "What a-are w-we going t-to do?" she stammered out as he wiped off his face. The air around them was cool as they rested in the shade.

"About what?" His green eyes stared at her intensely, and she shrank back.

"Rae and R-Ro-oyce."

His eyes hardened into shards of glass. "Nothing," he answered shortly, his movement jerky with anger as he stuffed his towel into his bag.

She felt a wave of fear crash over her and she panicked slightly. "W-W-what d-do y-you mean?" she asked, feeling her face heat up with anger. He'd pissed off Royce—okay, that was more her fault—but he'd managed to piss of Rae and now he was telling her that they wouldn't go after her.

"D-d-did y-you kill them o-or so-so-omething?" she asked jokingly, hoping to lighten his bad mood, but he whipped around so fast; it would've been comical any other time. She'd seen him when he was angry, and it scared her. She'd been treading on eggshells, afraid to anger him but slowly realized she was overreacting. Right now, though, she wasn't certain.

"What?"

"D-did y-you k-kkill—"

He was suddenly in her face, too close, and he smelt like skin and sweat and musk.

She reeled back, and his eyes were unreadable. "I-it w-wa-as a jok—" She couldn't get the words out as his angry eyes glared at her.

He'd been so kind but now he was scaring the hell out of her. Tears swarmed in her eyes as he slowly sat back, his eyes softening. "I didn't mean to scare you. Please don't talk about killing when I'm with you."

She didn't miss the way his fists clenched or that he was cold for the rest of their run. The sweat in her eyes burned as they paced back to her house.

"Are y-you a-angry w-wi-ith me?" she asked quietly.

"No." His voice was short. Cold. Empty.

She picked up her backpack, never noticing the photo that fluttered to the ground or Derek crouching down to pick it up.

She wrinkled her nose as she showered, surveying her body. She was skinny, like a knobby-kneed little girl. Her breasts were small, her stomach flat, her hips bony, and her legs were almost too thin. She was tiny, barely hitting five feet solid. If she cut her hair, she could've passed as a boy.

Sighing to herself, she stepped into the spray of hot water and let it run down her skin, wishing it could wash away her insecurities. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the tiles and the emotions flew through her, under her skin. Inch by inch, she was peeled away.

Underneath the layers was a scared little girl, she knew. She knew that for certain. She scrubbed away the grime and sweat and watched the dirty water swirl down the drain as she sat under the spray. It pelted her skin, a burning waterfall, scorching her skin. She closed her eyes and cried softly. She knew he hated her now.

By the time the water turned cold, her face was puffy and splotchy and her nose was running. She sat in a fluffy towel for half an hour, thinking about Derek.

Her hair was stringy and wet, lying down her back in wet clumps. She shivered when she peeled off the towel and got dressed: a big, fluffy pink sweater with a cat and pink plaid pajama pants that hid her blue toenails. The bathroom was hot and humid when she opened the door. Her hair was piled in a towel but water dripped down her neck.

When she looked through her backpack, panic gripped her violently as she searched through the dingy tank top and shorts and towels. It wasn't there—her picture wasn't _there._ Oh god, her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Little sobs built up in her throat.

What if Rae found it? What if she couldn't find it? What if she dropped it in the woods? That was the last picture Chloe had of her mother—hell, no, the _only_ picture she had. After Jennifer Saunders died, Steve locked up everything that reminded him of his dead wife. He kept himself busy at the office, so as to avoid her look alike at home.

The blonde's chest was aching as she cried, curled up on a pile of damp towels that smelled like sweat. Her hair toppled out of the towel and hid her tears from anyone who barged in. Lauren wasn't home and, thank God, otherwise she would've dragged her ass down the stairs and pestered her into answering the million dollar question: Why are you crying, Chloe?

"I lost it," Chloe whimpered to herself, her breath hitting her hands and bouncing back into her face. The heat dried her tears against her skin, tacky and sticky, her skin would surely split like rice paper if she moved.

She crawled under the sheets and cried until she fell asleep.

 

 

Chloe spent her Saturday morning looking for the picture. The air was muggy and made her sky-blue tank top stick to her skin as she crouched on the dirty forest floor, ignoring the mosquitoes sucking her blood up like a buffet.

She pushed back the branches of a brush and let out a tiny scream when a spider crawled onto her hand.

The spider fell onto the floor and scuttled away as she tried to catch her breath. Her hair, although pulled back into a braid, was soaked at the temples as she sat back and wiped her face off. Two hours had passed since she entered the woods.

It was now ten in the morning. Lauren was working; Steve wasn't home. Would they notice if she didn't come home? Well, maybe Lauren but certainly not Steve. He couldn't stand the sight of his daughter, looking so much like her deceased mother.

Grumbling to herself like a grouchy child, she got to her feet and pushed forward into the woods. Her boots crushed the damp forest floor and squashed bugs that crawled across it.

A bee buzzed passed her and she screamed, stumbled back. Her foot caught on something and she lurched back, the breath leaving her chest. She didn't stop tumbling and the leaves and twigs scratched up her bare skin, drawing blood and cuts. She hit her face on a tree branch that left a long scratch from her right nostril to her ear and something poked her in the eye.

Slowly, the tumbling stopped and her breathing was all she heard. She glanced up to find a well-hidden patch of bushes.

It looked normal from the other side, just more forest. But behind the leaves was a very steep, very long cliff. The ground leveled out and it was just damp grass and leaves.

She got to her feet and tested her arms and legs.

No sprains, no bruises. Just scrapes and cuts. She cupped a hand over her eye and continued forward. Once she reached the edge of the clearing, she stuck her hand out and lightly pressed a leg through the leaves. Solid ground. Taking a deep breath, she pushed forward.

The first thing she saw was the water. A glade. Clear, pure, blue. Quiet. Not a bird or squirrel in sight. The water was big, about the size of a moderate swimming pool. It looked clean. The grass was green, very green, and soft, covered in morning dew, untouched by the heat outside.

Tall, thick trees blocked out the sun, letting gaps of sunshine in. It was cool here, nice. That's when she noticed the pile of clothes. She crept forward.

A t-shirt and a pair of dark running shorts. They looked familiar. The sneakers were dark grey and worn. And there was a wrinkled piece of paper tucked into the shirt's folds.

"What are you doing with my stuff?" barked out a voice.

She unfolded the man's shirt and stared at the picture…the picture of her and her mother.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" A hand grabbed her arm and yanked her around to face him. Hopefully, he wasn't naked…even if he had the most gorgeous eyes she ever laid eyes on.

"Chloe?"

"D-De-er-erek?"


	6. In Which Royce is Twisted Every Way

06

For the longest time, neither of them spoke. He stepped back, his eyes took her in, slowly, savoring her and, in turn, she drank in the sight before her: his muscular chest that made her heart pound and hands want to touch the muscles underneath the smooth skin, the water clinging to his tan, tan skin, leaving damp trails that her eyes followed all too eagerly.

"Chloe?"

She looked up at his eyes—had he been checking her out?—and she saw his gaze flicker down to the picture in her hand. "I-I-I c-co-coul-ouldn't f-fi-find th-this," she managed softly, her voice weak, thick from crying like a babe.

Hot tears prickled in the backs of her eyes. "I wasn't sure if I was welcome at your house," Derek explained slowly, reaching for her—no, passed her, for his _towel._ He rubbed himself down, his shorts sticking to him like a second skin. It was delicious, but her impending bawling ruined the moment.

Her face felt hot like fire and she knew she was going to cry. A tear dripped down her cheek and hit the toe of her hiking boot. "I was going to give it back to you—are you okay?" She tried to duck her head away, but he cupped her chin in his hand (so warm, huge, covering the span of her jaw) and turned her to face him.

"Chloe, I didn't mean to make you cry," he whispered, his voice low and soft—sensual, almost, as though she were his lover and he was comforting her.

She shook her head, curls bouncing around. "I-it's n-no-not th-that…th-this and m-my necklace are all I ha-have left o-of my m-mom." She knew he'd be confused but he just let her cry her feelings out, telling her to wait for him while he went in the woods to get changed.

He disappeared from her sight and she collapsed to the ground, her face burning. Why did she have to cry so much? She hid her face in her hands and let the tears fall down her heated cheeks. In the back of her head, she could see her mother, smiling, happy—healthy.

"It's not your fault." He was behind her now; his hand heavy on the back of her head. His strong fingers stroked through the tangles. He knelt down, suddenly, and he draped himself across her side, pressing her face into his chest. It was pure heaven, and she inhaled his smell, heady and musky and a bit gross but all him, greedily. She froze as someone laughed throatily.

"My, my, what do we have here?" sneered a voice.

Chloe frantically wiped her at her wet cheeks, refusing to let the bastard see her vulnerable.

Royce stood a few feet away from them, wearing a tight grey t-shirt and torn-up skinny jeans, his hair slicked back with a ton of hair gel. He reminded Chloe of an eel.

Derek was on his feet, his muscles tense. Was he going to hit Royce?

The two boys flanking Royce, Liam and Brady, looked very strong, giving Derek these excited looks; it was like they _wanted_ to hurt him.

Royce flashed a dark, smarmy smile at Chloe. She scrambled to her feet, heart hammering in her chest so loudly, she wondered if they can hear it.

"We'll be going now," said Derek, taking Chloe's arm. His fingers burned her skin but she could feel the slight tremor in his hand, a muscle in his jaw jumping, his pulse throbbing in his throat, heavy.

"Where do you think you're going, Stutter Girl, Killer Boy?" Royce's eyes shone with glee, sick, twisted glee.

Derek's nostrils flared at the nickname. "Don't _call_ me—"

"Oh, he didn't tell you, did he?" The lean boy came closer, a slight bounce in his step.

Liam popped his knuckle, blonde hair glinting like gold in the sunlight.

Brady grinned, a dimple in his squared chin flashing like a diamond.

"Did he tell you what he did? _Why_ he lives with someone who isn't related to him at _all_?" His voice grew higher and higher, almost comicall,y but Chloe wasn’t laughing; she was sweating like a pig.

"He killed them. Killed his family in a rage. Just a little younger than you, actually," Royce explained as easily as speaking about the weather.

She looked at Derek, the anger burning in his eyes, his face angled away from her like he was ashamed. _Chloe, this is the same guy who protected you from Royce. He's protecting you now,_ she told herself. Her hand squeezed around the gem on her neck.

**He's strong enough to kill someone, I bet. He looks like he's a friggin' bodybuilder!**

She pulled her arm out of Derek's grasp and slowly, shaking, walked up to Royce. "H-he k-ki-illed h-hi-is parents, you s-said?" she murmured. Her heart was pounding double-time with what she was about to do. "Y-you-you're n-no-nothing bu-ut a liar," she spat and her fist connected with his face, sending him stumbling and clutching his cheek.

"Derek's very pr-pro-otective o-over who h-he cares about a-and w-wou-ould never hurt th-them! _Ever!"_ Her mouth and tongue were thick with fear but now that she was coming off her high, rage induced of course, she saw how utterly pissed he was.Her hand's throbbing, her fingers turning red.

Royce's face turned a horrible shade of dark purple-red and he lunged—there was a fucking _knife_ in his fist, arching towards her—someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back hard, nearly ripping her shoulder out of socket.

Her arm was burning now, tears filling her eyes as she watched Derek slam his shoulder into Royce's chest. The eel snarled as he hit the ground, Derek pinning him down.

"Derek!" she yelled and scrambled forward as he wound back his arm, ready to knock Royce's lights out. She wrapped her arms around Derek's waist, yanking with all her strength, feet slipping on the ground.

"Please! S-sto-op!" she begged.

When Derek looked over his shoulder, his eyes pierced her like daggers. Heat rushed into her cheeks when he turned away, his fist flying. With a crack like a gunshot, his hand connected in a punch square to Royce’s eye socket.

"Don't _ever_ touch her again."

"Little mutt is protective, no?" Brady laughed, tense.

"Yeah," Derek snarled, "I am. And if you two jackasses so much as _look_ at any of my friends—" Chloe's heart beat faster at the word _friend_. "—Then I will _personally_ beat the shit out of you."

He got off the swearing Royce and grabbed Chloe's arm, dragging her as she looked back, watching as Royce sat up, hair messy, his cheekbone bruised. There was a deep cut on his lip. He looked positively, absolutely, downright pissed off.

"W-why?"

Derek ignored her and then he stopped suddenly. Without warning, he dropped her arm and his fist flew out, into a tree trunk. Chunks of skin peeled up. Splinters embed themselves in his knuckles, raw and bloody.

"D-De—"

"You think I killed them, don't you?" His voice was soft like a breathy whisper, cold as ice. "You think I killed my family." He wasn’t looking at her; rather, he was looking at the tree.

"N-no."

"Don't lie."

She squeezed the necklace tight. "No." She touched between his shoulder blades, feeling the heated skin, the hard muscles there. "I d-do-on't, De-De-erek." She took a deep breath to keep her jitters away. She really didn't want to stutter and ruin the moment. "You're protective, caring. I may not have known you for that long, as long as Tori or Simon but I want to _get_ to know you. I want to k-know y-you're f-fa-favorite color o-or—" She stopped, suddenly trembling.

"I'd like to get to know you."

She let her hand touch his hair lying against the nape of his neck softly, feeling the silky strands before she pulled away.

"I'll walk you home." He sounded a bit strained. When he turned to her, his cheeks were redder than normal and his bottom lip looked shiny, like he's been biting it. _I'd rather bite it,_ she thought sultrily and quickly turned her head away, feeling her cheeks flame.

They walked out of the woods in silence.

She dragged her sneakers on the hot asphalt. Her bicep burned and throbbed and ached the entire time.

"Is your arm okay?"

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Oh, um—" She tried to pull her sleeve down, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and slowly pulls up the fabric; he swore loudly.

"It—I didn't—"

"Derek, I know." She patted his hand, looking down at it. He had a working man's hands, with big veins and strong calluses. "I know." He pulled back, his hand rubbing his mouth like he was trying not to get sick. "I'm not mad," she blurted out. "You were pulling me away from Royce."

They were walking up the steps of her house. Lauren's car was in the driveway. She could faintly hear some stupid game show from the den. "Chloe," Derek murmured softly, looking down into her eyes, "if he so much as _looks_ at you, tell me." His gaze, which had been soft, hardened into stone. "Promise me."

"I promise."

"Call me?"

She laughed, tension slipping off her back like water from a duck's feathers. "I don't have your number." She rubbed her arm where the bruises were, a flicker of something sad and dark crossing his face when she looked at him.

"I'll figure out a way to explain it away."

She smiled shyly.

He gave her this half-assed smile back before he turns and jogged away. The door opened, Jeopardy song blaring out, full volume.

Lauren’s figure blocked out the doorway. "Care to tell me what you two have been doing all—oh my god, Chloe. What the hell happened to your arm?!"

Chloe took a deep breath, the image of his soft, soft eyes calming her down, and braced herself for hell.

 


	7. In Which There is Red Hair

07

 

Chloe leaned over the bathroom sink as she dyed dozens of red streaks into her hair. Tori had told her she'd look good with streaks. Standing in her bra, she dared a sneak peek and a grin lit up her face.

"Chloe?" came a muffled voice. Derek.

Seven months had passed since they met and they were growing a strong, sure friendship. He was a really sweet guy, under his rough exterior and biting remarks that tumbled out of his mouth if you pissed him off.

"Coming!" she called back as she dried her hair and threw on her t-shirt, walking down the stairs. When she opened the door, his eyes flew up to her hair. "Do you like it?" she asked shyly, twisting a strand around her finger.

"You look good," he said in a rush of breath and her heart sank.

She knew she looked stupid, and he didn't want to be mean to her face. The smile on her face felt stiff, frozen. Coughing, she turned away, and tears blurred her vision; she thought she looked nice, looked pretty with her streaks but she probably looked like a damn candy cane.

She mumbled something about grabbing a jacket and closed the door quietly behind him when he stepped in. "Chloe," he called when she turned away, "I really do think you look great. You just…it took my breath away when I saw you. Red, like red riding hood? What does that make me?" A sharp grin flashed in the mirror.

Paused. And then dropped into a little smirk. His eyes sparkled. "The big bad wolf?"

Chloe felt her little mood lift, relaxing as she saw the truth in his eyes. "You know," She forced herself to sound nonchalant, to not stutter, as she made her way upstairs to grab a sweater, "I always thought that the wolf had a crush on little red."

She heard him choke slightly and laughed as she opened her bedroom door. What she saw made her scream bloody murder as she scrambled back, crying.

Her bedroom was torn up: dresser lying on its side; her underwear was hanging off the ceiling and her bras were plastered to the walls with duct tape. Her bed, which she _knew_ she'd made this morning, lay tipped over, comforter torn up and fluffy stuffing floating around. Her vanity's mirror was shattered and her jewelry was scattered through out the room.

What made her really scream was the fact there were dead animals in her room. Blood hung in the air, soaked into the carpet in a big, red pool. There were two decomposed bats, a dog with a huge hole in its side, a bird with maggots crawling under its skin and a dead squirrel with severe mange.

She heard Derek thunder upstairs, heard him curse.

He grabbed her by the armpits and yanked her to her feet; he pressed her face into his chest.

She cried and clung to him.

"Chloe?"

Aunt Lauren's voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs and her heels clicked on the carpet. "What happened?" she asked in a cold voice.

"She went upstairs to get a sweater and she screamed," Derek rumbled, stroking Chloe's back, "and when I got here, her bedroom was trashed. Some sicko decided to screw with her. Put dead animals in her room."

Chloe buried her face deeper into his chest and inhaled his scent, pine needles and sweat, feeling her heartbeat calm down slowly. His hand was stroking up and down her back, warm and firm, never faltering.

"I'm going to call the police." Lauren kissed Chloe's head. "Don't leave her, Derek, or I swear to God—" Lauren was saying, a threat underlining her words.

"No need to swear to God, Miss Fellows. I wouldn't leave her even if you told me to," he replied, his fingertips catching the edge of Chloe's shirt where it twisted away from her jeans.

Lauren's clicking heels drifted down the steps.

"It'll be okay," he told Chloe.

"It was R-R-Rae or Ro-oyce," she said slowly, heart stuttering for a second when he stared down at her and met her eyes.

He wiped away the lingering tears. "I'll kill him," he threatened softly, anger making him tremble viciously.

She stroked his back, feeling the muscles there bunch under her hand. The look in his eyes made her want to run away screaming, but she saw a glimmer of something behind the inhumane anger: fear.

He was scared?

"Derek?" she squeaked out, and his arms tightened around her, like hard ropes of muscle; her cheek squished against his chest and she heard his heartbeat: fast and frantic and heavy. She noticed the slight tremble in his hands as he fought to stay calm, his breath puffing against her hair.

"They snuck into your room, Chloe," he whispered, his voice rough and gravelly, "with me _right_ downstairs." His grip was painful and tight but she didn't want him to let her go, didn't want his arms to not drape around her, keeping her close. "They did all that without a sound, a creak. They were like—" He broke off, his jaw ticking as he gazed off into the cul-de-sac through the hallway window.

"Ghosts, Derek. They were like ghosts. Not even you could've sensed them," she said softly, pulling her face away from his chest to stare up into his eyes. His arms remained tight and unlocking around her.

"I _should_ have," he hissed, eyes flashing like shards of green grass, his lip curling. "I _should_ have noticed them, noticed something, anything."

"Derek, are you scared?"

A loud snort.

"I'm serious."

Silence.

A pause. Then, "Yes. I'm afraid of what they're going to do when—" He stopped, his eyes closing. His arms tightened. "—W-When I'm not here to protect you, Chloe. They won't look passed hurting you, in _any_ way they can."

The breath whooshed out of Chloe's lungs as he turned his piercing gaze on her, his forehead touching hers. The wailing of police sirens broke them apart and Chloe darted down the steps, pausing to glance behind her.

Derek stood behind her, clenching and unclenching his hand as he glared at the mess of a room. He stood stock-still, his nostrils flaring as his pulse thumped against his neck, jumping out of his skin. With a sharp shake of his head, he thumped down the steps behind her.

The first thing Chloe heard from her aunt's mouth, as Derek wrapped a large, warm arm around her shoulder, was, "What did you do to your hair?"


	8. In Which There is a Chess Game…and Romance

08

Chloe told him she wanted to stay at his house while the police did their job and, for once, he didn't mind someone coming to his house. Kit was home; writing his latest screenplay and Tori was likely playing Call of Duty on his Xbox. Simon was out shopping with Nate and Liz, claiming he needed clean cleats for soccer but Derek knew he wanted surprise Tori for her birthday.

"I'm sorry," Derek apologized, hoping his face was set in a look of concern and sympathy. He knew he wasn't very good at expressing his emotions but, for Chloe, he'd try. She smiled but he could see her lips quivering, the fear in her eyes. She was shaken. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, feeling her soft, silky skin slide across his, smelling her clean, soapy scent and the faint hint of cherries from her lip balm.

"I-I'm a big baby, aren't I?" she said after a moment and his heart lurched dangerously. "No," he snapped, and she shrank back a tiny bit, "You're not. If I found dead animals in my room like that, I'd have freaked out too." He took her in his arms, felt the beating of her heart as she trembled, overcome with fear now.

"I will protect you until my dying breath, Chloe," he promised, stroking her hair. She smelled wonderful and everything that was Chloe filled his lungs, made him tremble inside, ache to crush her, hold her, until the light in the sky went out and they were covered in darkness—

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. "I'm here, Chloe." She was soft and warm against him. "Let's go," she whispered into his breast, right against his heart and he led her down the street, her tiny hand curled in his, fingers laced.

He felt calm for the first time in years.

* * *

 

They owned a little townhouse right next to Dr. Gil, he told her as they approached. His house was a solid white and the roof was red; the shutters were pale blue. It looked very suburbany and country. A soccer ball lay on the flattened green grass. "Dr. Gil, a former psychiatric, is a nutcase," he admitted, squeezing Chloe's hand when she shivered and shrank against him, "Most of the time she just wanders up and down the drive."

Chloe eyeballed the house distrustfully as they bounded up the steps of his house and Derek produced a little key from around his neck and unlocked the door. The house was loud: Tori's music blasted from her bedroom, Simon was screaming, and Kit was watching an old classic movie.

"Derek," Kit said, turning towards his adoptive son. Derek's hand tightened on Chloe's as Kit's almond-shaped eyes went wide. "Who's this young lady?" he asked with a friendly smile, encouraging; Chloe's hand was sweaty in his.

Chloe's cute little mouth opened but Simon streaked passed them, holding a flat iron. "Derek's girlfriend!" he blurted, turned on his heel, and darted back the way he came. When she laughed softly, her shoulders relaxing, Derek felt a little piece of himself relax too, his stomach calming down. He no longer was frightened that he'd puke up his intestines.

"I'm Chloe S-Saunders."

Kit stopped for a moment, his expression thoughtful, recognition lighting up his brown eyes. "Jennifer's daughter? How is she?"

She shifted, looking so forlorn that Derek wanted to scoop her up and hide them away where— _no one could find us_ , he told himself, the words swishing around in his brain, his head. He felt the words resonate with every fiber of his being and he felt her affection radiate from her smile to her pointy little elf toes.

"Sh-she's dead, sir. Has been for five years. Cancer, the doctor's said," she replied sullenly and a wave of rage hit him, nearly knocking him off his feet as it exploded from a fat, heavy pit in his stomach out, tendrils racing through his spidery veins. Kit froze and his expression was soft, sad, shocked even. "I-I'm sorry, Chloe. Jennifer and I knew each other a while back, in high school, but then we had to move—" Kit was saying when it hit Derek.

A cold shock slapped Derek's face and he felt his entire body stiffen as he remembered—oh, yes, he remembered why they had to move, how could he _ever_ forget how Simon had whined and kicked and screamed and Tori had sulked for days and he, well, he had been beside himself over what he'd done, that day in the basketball court, wouldn't say a word to Kit?—and Chloe's thumb stroked his knuckles softly. He felt himself relax under her touch, nearly a puddle of lovesick puppy goo.

"How's your dad?" Kit asked.

"Hardly around," she responded stiffly and Derek knew Kit had touched a sensitive subject yet _again_. Kit cleared his throat. "Will your aunt be okay if we had you for dinner? How about we invite her to join us?" He was headed for the phone so it wouldn't matter if Chloe said no or not. Derek snuck them up to his room and no sooner than Chloe had passed Tori's room, Simon tore out of it, followed by a shattering noise of her brush smacking the wall.

"Oh, hey, Chloe," Tori said a bit breathlessly and patted the small girl on the head before she turned and ran down the hall, shouting at Simon. He was laughing in a way that made most girls turn to puddles but Derek noted Chloe only turned to him to ask, "What was that all about?"

He offered a shrug. "I have no idea," he told her. "And I really don't care." He took her by the hand and led her to his room, where he shyly watched her take in the immaculate cleanliness. "Your room is so neat," she griped at him and he smiled softly, watching her kick off her shoes and place them next to the dresser. He toed off his own sneakers and set them beside hers, and sat down on the bed across from her.

"Chloe?"

"Hmm?"

She looked up at him, so trusting, so naïve, so innocent, and he felt his heart soar at the realization that she was his. All he had to do was ask her, ask her to be his to hold, to cherish, to care for when she wasn't feeling stellar, to buy tampons for (that was weird but if she needed a rocket ship, he'd buy her it…or build it). _Ask her._ "You're so tiny," he said instead, watching as her face went red, her eyes going down to her breasts.

"Y-yeah, I-I know—" she stuttered but froze. "I wasn't talking about your chest, Chloe," he murmured, reaching out a large hand and placing it on her cheek, letting his thumb brush her lips. "You have little elf feet." She relaxed, her blue eyes staring at him in the most intimate way that sent his entire body on fire.

"Derek?" she asked sweetly. For her, he'd kill; he'd steal the moon, if only she asked that of him.

"Show me how to play chess, please."

She was holding out the worn box with a pleading look and he laughed as he crossed his legs and set about teaching her to play.


	9. In Which Friday Becomes a Horror Movie

09

Friday night was movie night. Chloe would pick out a film and then she'd steal one of Derek's oversized sweatshirts and curl up next to him on the couch as he turned off the lights and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Do you wanna watch _The Purge_?" she asked one night, trying to warm up her hands in her armpits. Her fingers were freezing and her toes were warm under Derek's thick thighs. A curl fell across her forehead and she leaned in closer, making him brush it away.

His hand lingered a second longer than usual. "We could watch the Friday the Thirteenth franchise. Dad bought me all the movies last Christmas," he suggested lightly. She bit her cheek and thought. "Sure."

When he got up, she took the opportunity to admire his shapely butt. That boy had the nicest butt. It was Tumblr worthy; it wasn't a flapjack ass like most guys; it was two round, firm globes that filled out his jeans in the nicest way.

"Are you checking him out?" whispered a voice next to her. Chloe jumped. Tori sat next to her, hair pinned back, in a black tank top and red flannel pajama pants. She looked pretty without her makeup.

"N-no," Chloe stammered, face reddening. "Okay. Maybe." A hard stare made her spill out the truth. "Okay, fine. Yes. I was." Feeling embarrassed, Chloe wrung her hands.

"He's not my type," Simon said as flopped his bony butt between Tori and Chloe. "But if the liner back's your type…" Tori said and Chloe stood up. "It looks like Movie Night been taken over," Derek rumbled as he wrapped an arm around her waist, squeezing her hip.

Her heart thumped when his thumb brushed the strip of skin where her jeans twisted away from his sweater and stayed there, resting on her skin. "Let's go outside," he suggested with one of his rare smiles and she nodded.

When she looked over her shoulder, Tori was waggling her eyebrows and miming. "Be back before dark!" Simon yelled and Chloe caught a glimpse of Tori's mischievous smile in the reflection. And then she caught sight of what the other girl was miming and turned bright red.

"They're idiots, aren't they?" Derek said, hugging her closer to his hip. The heat of his muscular body chased away the chills. She shrugged. "Our idiots," she corrected with a smile and they lapsed into silence. "It's so peaceful here," she said finally.

He laced his hand with hers as they walked and walked and walked, walked until they reached that little clearing she'd stumbled upon, where she found her photo and Derek had bruised her arm while pulling her away from Royce.

"My arm's doing better, by the way," she said absently. He stroked her arms. "Chloe?" he asked softly, his voice hoarse and unusually shaky. She looked up at him, curious. His lips touched hers and he tasted salty, like the saltine crackers he loved to snack on all the time while they watched movies, like salty, buttered-popcorn, like sweat when they ran together.

His lips were wet and chapped, pressing against hers, lightly, feathery. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer to him; she felt his muscles digging into and something rubbing against her tummy, something hard and alive.

She sucked at his lower lip, fingers threaded through his hair, feeling the silky strands, so thick and soft. His breath battered against her face as he struggled to breath, his hands tight on her hips.

When she ran out of oxygen, she resurfaced and gulped down deep lungfuls. "I'm so sorry, Chloe," Derek whispered, his eyes full of fear. "I shouldn't have—" She lunged and he caught her, spinning as she attacked his warm mouth again, hot and heavy and delicious.

"Derek?" she asked when they pulled up again and he was smiling, his eyes shining. "Will you be my boyfriend?" For once, he was speechless and his face turned red. "Yes, Chloe, I will. I've wanted to ask you for the longest time." He kissed her hard on the mouth, hands cupping her cheeks, and his teeth mashed against hers with a click.

She laughed.

"What do we have _here_? The two lovebirds?" drawled a voice. "Yes, yes, I do believe so," answered another. Royce and Rae slinked out of the shadows; he was sporting a black eye and busted lip; she carried a tote bag and wore sky-high heels.

"Chloe," Derek whispered, backing up. "Run when I say so, okay?" Chloe shook her head. " _Chloe_ isn't going _anywhere_ , Killer Mutt," Royce barked out, venom lacing his words. Her boyfriend's hand was crushing hers and she was squeezing back just as tight; fear fluttered in the pit of her stomach.

"Bitch," Rae spat at Chloe. "Why d-do you hate me so m-much?" the blonde asked, feeling tears fill up her eyes as Derek kissed her temple softly. Rae's dark eyes lifted and settled on Royce. "You always had someone's attention…someone _I_ want."

She set down the tote bag and pulled out a pipe. Derek tensed. "This isn't for you, Mutt," Royce sang and swept closer to Rae. "It's for your little bitch of a girlfriend." His eyes never left Chloe as he took the pipe from Rae's hands and lifted it, hefting, feeling the weight.

He gave a sharp, predatory smile as he swung the pipe around. It swished through the air and rung hollow as he laughed, a sharp ringing sound that send Chloe's fear skyrocketing.

"The pipe is from my uncle's shop. He likes to make stuff with these, melt them down." He smacked the pipe into his palm and grinned sinisterly as he turned to Rae, who pulled out a long, black metal bat from the bag. Royce cocked his head, as though considering something.

The setting sun caught his eyes and made him look feral, a rabid animal.

"Now," he said as he advanced, Rae smacking the bat against her palm behind him, "Who wants to run?"


	10. In Which Blood is Spilt

10

Derek growled low in the back of his throat, like a wolf. His mind was scattered, trying to figure out the best way to get out of the situation.

Rae's hair gleamed like fire in the dying light as she came closer, smacking the bat into her hand, the hollow, metallic sound ringing out.

"Now," Royce said as he advanced, Rae swinging the back experimentally, "Who wants to run?" Derek tried to stay calm, tried to breathe as he rubbed Chloe's arms, feeling her pulse beating rapidly against his chest—or was this his heartbeat? Frantic and rapid, like a frightened dog's?

"I've _always_ wanted to do this," Royce continued, " _especially_ after I got away with Austin's murder." He stroked the pipe lovingly, his smile predatory, the gleam in his eyes feral. He looked rabid, like a wolf Derek saw once at the zoo when he was about fourteen.

Before they had to move.

Before he shot up and became a menace.

Before they found out Tori's mom was alive.

The wolf had snarled and yapped at him and charged, battering itself bloody against the fence. His classmates thought it was cool.

"But Royce," Rae butted in with a feral smile, breaking Derek's absent train of thought, "how'd you kill Austin?" She looked genuinely interested as she glided closer yet, eyes honed in on his girlfriend.

The snarl left his lips suddenly, making Royce burst into laughter. "It was October, Halloween," he mused, leaning against the pipe. Derek's nostrils flashed as he sucked in more air.

"Around midnight, Austin fell asleep playing video games. It wasn't hard to find my dumbbells, which my dad had hidden up in the raincoat closet. I snuck upstairs, since I was on the floor directly below him, and crept into his room."

Chloe made a whimpering sound and Royce's smile flashed fresh, excited by her fear, eating up her terror.

"His room was freezing, like an icebox." He bounced the pipe and swung it; Chloe backed up against Derek. He kissed her temple, hoping to calm her. Royce's smile grew in size, doubled, hard lines appearing around the corners.

"I used my twenty pound dumbbell. Tightening my grip, I eased forward and—" He stopped and looked around, like he was worried he'd be caught in the middle of recounting how he killed his brother.

"— _BAM!"_ he snarled and lurched. Chloe shrieked and backpedaled frantically. "I hit him. He woke up and I _know_ he saw me, looked up into my eyes, blood dripping from the gash in his forehead." She was crying now, gulping down big lungfuls of air, trying to stay calm.

"So…I hit him again. He was crying, staring up at me in horror as I hit him again and again and _again_." Royce sat back, looking like the cat that ate the canary, a satisfied look in his eyes.

"I've killed once. I loved every second of it." Derek wrapped his hand around Chloe's arm, muscles tightening. He'd get her out of here, get her to the house; he'd take care of Royce.

"What makes you think I won't hesitate—"

Derek lunged into Rae and Royce and shoved Chloe. "Run!" he bellowed and she took off. "Derek!" She disappeared into the brush as Rae struggled to get up, swinging the bat hard into the side of his jaw. Something cracked and blood filled his mouth.

"We may not have Chloe but we have you," she hissed and swung hard. The bat smacked him in the ear and he pulled back, cursing as Royce knocked out his feet and he hit the ground.

The pipe hit him again and again, in his chest, his face, his back, anywhere Royce could land a hit. The bat smashed into his arm and something cracked. Pain exploded everywhere.

"You fucking—" A hit to the nose sent him reeling back. "—Fat—" The pipe crushed his ankle bone."—Ugly—" One eyes was swelling shut. "—Mutt!" Rae's foot kicked him across the face and he was certain he'd lost his teeth. A bone in his face shattered and the pain was everywhere, clawing at him, suffocating him.

Derek wheezed for breath as the blows rained down on him, the pain vibrating through his broken bones and bruised skin. "Derek!" Chloe.

Someone tackled Rae and they crashed to the forest floor together. She was screaming loudly. Royce dropped the pipe and took off. Footsteps pounded by Derek's head, chasing, pursuing Royce. Static crackled, snippets of conversation.

Hands pulled Derek's head, tears dripping onto his face. He pried open his eyes and, through a film of his own tears and blood, saw Chloe, his angel, so perfect, so beautiful…

Black swam up and blocked out his senses as he slipped under.

* * *

 

Something was beeping. Did Simon manage to burn cereal again and set off the fire alarm? Or was it his alarm clock going off? Derek groaned as he cracked open his eyes. There was an ache all over his body.

"Derek?" asked a choked voice. He looked up and found Tori standing there, eyes bloodshot. "You ass!" she said as she wiped her nose on Liz's hoodie, looking ready to burst into tears. She walked over, sat down and, much to his surprise, wrapped her arms around his neck. "Fucking idiot," she whispered as she pulled away and gave him a watery smile.

"Hey, champ, you're up," Kit walked in, carrying donuts and coffee. Tori took a coffee from him and handed it to Derek. He sipped it slowly and when he could speak, asked, "Where's Chloe? Is she okay?"

Simon laughed. "Yeah. She has yet to visit though." Derek tried to ignore the disappointment that welded up in his chest. "Lauren won't let her leave. Her dad flipped." There was a knock on the door and Derek saw a flash of blonde hair and smelled the dye before he was being smothered. He inhaled her sweet, fresh scent and wrapped his arms around her waist; she was crying into his hair.

"I-I so s-so-orry," she blubbered, squeezing tighter. Her chest pressed against his and he prayed he kept things below the waist calm.

"Chloe!" snapped a sharp voice and a man in his late forties with thin, brown hair and a rumpled suit strode into the room. "I'm so sorry," she gasped out as she pulled away from Derek's neck, staring down at him with tear-filled blue eyes. They fell down her face in streaks and he wiped them away with his free hand; the other arm was in a heavy cast.

"Sh, honey, it's okay," he whispered and she whimpered softly, pressing her lips to his forehead. He kissed her neck. "Excuse me but who—Chloe! Get off him this instant!"

She pulled away from his forehead and her breath hit him in face; she was shaking as he stroked her back. "I'm so glad…" She choked a sob as she pressed her mouth to his, her sweet lips against his salty ones, the cuts stinging but he held on and on, kissing her back, slowly, gently, afraid to let her go.

"I'm so glad you got away," he croaked and rapidly blinked away the film of tears betraying his fear of losing her. "I'm glad—"

"Who the hell are you?" Simon demanded when the rumpled man grabbed Chloe's arm and pulled her away. "I'm her father, Steve."

"Oh," Tori said softly and his head swung towards her, taking in the bloodshot eyes and rumpled sweatshirt.

"The absentee daddy," she sneered.


	11. In Which There is Miss Enright

11

Tori's sneer left Chloe breathless, feeling her dad stiffen. "And what would _you_ know about absent parents?" snapped a new voice. A tall, dark-haired woman with cruel eyes clicked into the room, wearing an expensive pantsuit and sky-high heels as she ended a phone call on her smart phone. Tori tensed.

"Diane," greeted Simon coldly and Chloe found it extremely odd how hollow he sounded as he wrapped an arm around his sister protectively. Tori's eyes had lost their fire and she looked pale, pasty like a ghost; she trembled slightly.

"It's _Miss Enright,_ to you, you little brat," she snapped at Simon. She turned to Steve, flashing a fake smile that made Chloe shrink back. "Mr. Saunders," she cooed, "It's a pleasure meeting you and, oh, you must Chloe. I've heard so much about you." She crouched down to reach the girl's height and, when her dark eyes met Chloe's, there was nothing nice or kind in her gaze.

Derek didn't really say anything; he just watched Diane, his green eyes following her with an intensity that nearly sucked the backbone out of Chloe. "I've been called to file charges against Derek Souza on account of Andrew Carson's concern for Chloe Saunders," Diane stated while checking her lipstick in a compact.

Chloe sputtered. "Derek hasn't done anything!" she shrieked as Steve stroked her shoulder. "I don't remember calling Andrew. We haven't—" Steve began absently but Diane cut him off. She reached into her stupid purse and pulled out some papers.

"It seems Mr. Souza has harmed your daughter before, put her in danger," said the lawyer as she fluffed her air, waving off an air of disgust towards Derek. Chloe broke away from her confused father and slipped beside Derek, holding his hand.

"When did this happen?" demanded Steve, nostrils flashing. "Royce Banks, Liam Malloy, and Ramon Benito cornered them in the woods. According to Mr. Carson, Derek injured Chloe's arm, leaving bruises."

"He was pulling me away from Royce!" Chloe burst out. "A-And R-Royce had a knife," she added quietly. Diane made a tsking sound, like she was disappointed in the blonde girl. "Mr. Banks had no knife. He said Mr. Souza attacked him, viciously, without explanation. Mr. Souza then dragged Miss Saunders away, despite her protests." Diane's calm, alert eyes met Chloe's.

Chloe sputtered in outrage. "D-Derek would _never_ a-attack unless there wasn't another o-o-option!" she spat, squeezing Derek's massive fingers tightly. "Did Royce tell you that he k-k-killed his brother, Austin, with a dumbbell? Did he tell you th-th-that he _enjoyed_ it, didn't f-feel any r-r-remorse?" Chloe asked, frustration and panic spiking when she saw the contemplative look on her father's face.

"I want the charges dropped, Diane," he said and Chloe could see the gears shifting in his brain, churning and crunching, rust falling away. The last time she saw him look like that was before Jennifer died.

Diane clucked her tongue. "Unfortunately, I can't do so. Only Mr. Carson can." A smile rose on her face, a sick one. Like she _wanted_ Derek behind bars. Chloe jumped to her feet and broke away from Derek, fists clenching and unclenching. "He saved my ass, Diane!" she yelled, "He saved me from the likes of some psychopath like Royce who'd probably rape me and t-t-torture me until I died!"

"Drop the charges, Diane. There's no evidence to uphold the complaint." Steve said darkly. Diane flashed a plastic smile that would melt under the sun, just like a Barbie Doll. "I'm afraid I can't _do_ that _,_ Mr. Saunders, without my client present and agreeing." She examined her long, claw-like nails with a mocking smile. "Than I'll see you in court, Diane," Steve hissed and she smirked, sashaying away.

The door slammed.

"I'm sorry about that, kids," sighed Steve as he pressed his pointer finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked in a tired way that Chloe knew he just wanted to go home and sleep the entire afternoon away. Losing Jennifer had taken most the life away from him.

"Simon, Tori, and, my boyfriend, Derek." Steve's eyes bugged. "I-I didn't know you had a, um, boyfriend, Chloe." She laughed, seeing her father's unease. "Neither did I, until yesterday, at least," she said softly, slipping her hand into Derek's.

"I'm sorry for the way I reacted," Steve apologized. "I-I…" He stopped and turned away, heading towards the door. "Be home by ten, sweetie," he mumbled. "I love you." The door shut quietly behind him and Chloe groaned.

"Hey," Derek said and stroked his fingers through her hair. She shivered softly under his touch and smiled. "He's just looking out for you," Simon murmured, "And what about when he wasn't home all the time?" Tori snapped.

"He loves me. It's like—like I'm a puppy he's been left with and he doesn't quite know what to do with me but he's trying his best, trying to move on from Mom," Chloe explained. "But my aunt…she's never forgiven him. She thinks it's all his fault."

"How can your mom dying be his fault?" Tori asked as she sat down in a chair. She tucked her legs under her, looking like she was being devoured by her girlfriend's giant cheerleading sweatshirt. Chloe lay down beside Derek, kicking off her sneakers.

"My mom died of cancer three years ago, when I was twelve," she explained softly, staring up at the speckle-tiled ceiling as Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His thumb rubbed her shoulder, against her bra strap and she relaxed.

Simon sucked in a breath. "I'm—" Chloe hand shot up. "Don't. I've h-heard enough of that," she said quietly. "Besides, it's nice to know that she's not suffering anymore, that's she's in a peaceful place." A pause. "I'm not a big God person, a Bible thumper, but when it comes to my Mom, I'd say, _yes, she's in a better place._ Because she was a kind person, an amazing person and she deserves some peace."

Derek placed a gentle, lingering kiss to her temple and Chloe swore, she _swore_ she heard the faint whisper of her mother say, "So…proud…baby…"


	12. In Which Nightmares Happen

12

Derek opened his at the smell of Chinese food and found Chloe setting down some take out on his bedside table, a smile lighting up her face.

She'd changed into a black hooded sweatshirt that read _Lyle High School Director's Cut_ with a series of names ran down the back and torn up jeans with chunky sneakers.

"Simon told me you liked Chinese food and I'm sure that the food here isn't very tasty," Chloe told him as she popped the lid to a steaming container of sesame chicken. "Here." She handed him a fork as he sat up carefully, mindful of his throbbing legs and chest. Her hair was pulled back today, he noted as he set the container in his lap and speared a chicken piece.

The aroma smelled heavenly as he ate, mindful of Chloe, who wasn't eating. Whenever he offered her a bite, she'd shake her head and just watch him eat. "What are you, Edward Cullen watching Bella eat?" he asked. "No, you've got rice all over your face," she laughed.

She looked beautiful with a smile, he mused as he picked the pieces off his cheeks and chin and flicked them into the container.

"Where is he?" He set the container down, ignoring the protest of his shoulder muscles as he leaned over. Satisfied and full and feeling a bit sleepy, he settled back down.

"Who?" She looked up at him curiously from her book, a curl escaping her hair tie and falling across her sky colored eyes. "Simon, my twin," Derek muttered and she snorted with laughter, closing her book carefully.

"Fruits Basket?" he murmured, reading the title. She flushed. "Yeah. Beth, one of my friends, made me sit down with her and watch some anime. It's not that bad. I like the action ones though, comedy too."

"Horror?" he asked. A bit of color drained from her face. "Nah." She sounded shaky so he decided to change subjects. "What's Fruits Basket about?" He leaned back onto the pillow as she began to talk; he wasn't really listening to her words but the sound of her voice, the way it got breathless at certain parts, pitchy at others.

His eyes fluttered shut as the drugs gnawed at his brain, dragging him into a dark, tormented sleep.

* * *

 

He woke up panting and shaking, sweat dripping into his eyes. The room was freezing, like ice. His muscles throbbed and ached as he doubled over, trying hard to collect himself. The lights were blinding, stabbing at his eyes so he squeezed them shut and tried not to heave.

"Derek?" Chloe. His head swung towards the direction of her voice and he saw her standing there, holding a paper cup of water and a pitcher, looking bewildered.

He pushed his lank hair out of his face and watched her calmly, closely as she set the objects next to him and then she was right there with him, pressing him into a hug, his face in her breasts. His cheeks burned as he struggled half-heartedly, not really wanting to get away but he felt guilty for this, for his face against her chest as she hugged him hard.

Her fingers stroked through his hair and he relaxed. "You looked so scared when you woke up," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur. He turned his head and his cheek pressed against her breast; her heartbeat thumped against his ear.

_B-bump._

"I-I…" The words died in his throat and he just settled for wrapping his arms around her, pulling her down with him when he flopped back down. He felt sweaty and dingy but, if he smelt bad, Chloe didn't indicate anything.

"You had a bad dream, a nightmare, didn't you?" He clenched his jaw and hid his flaming face in the cool pillowcase. Her arms wound around him and brought him back. She looked sincere and concerned but he really didn't want to tell her.

His mind jerked back, drawing him into that hell.

The nightmare had been a mixture of the beating of a few days ago and his life before Kit, with his biological bastard of a father, one infamous serial killer Zachary Cain. Of course Derek didn't find out his father was a serial killer until he was ten, after he'd gone to live with Kit when child services took him away.

The dream was horrible; Royce was beating him with that pipe, he couldn't find Chloe; Zachary was there, too, his cold, black eyes staring out at Derek, cold, calculating…evil. His clothes were bloody, speckled with blood and brain matter; in his hand was a girl's hair, streaked with blood and dotted with gore; he was dragging her behind him slowly.

The girl's hair was long, curly and red-blonde.

Zachary had grinned, showing off his long canines as he threw the girl's limp body and lifeless, glossy blue eyes gazed up at Derek, her mouth slack. She was nude, her body mangled, bones protruding from the skin and she was dissected from her neck to her navel, flayed open like a fish.

And then, she was crying, a garbled sound, gurgling out of her bloodless lips, her eyes rolling wildly in their sockets. Slowly, she got to her hands and knees, hair, oh God her hair was dragging on the ground, hiding her breasts but not the open cavity in her chest, her entrails dragging across the floor.

The pipe stopped swinging and Royce smiled, more like sneered, and then he swung, hard, right into Chloe's head.

"Derek?"

She let out a high pitched wail like something dying and inched forward, her broken, distorted legs digging into the ground behind her. Half of her skull was dented and it looked odd, like a deflated kick ball. Her mouth hung open and the reek of death wafted.

She dragged herself across the ground, closer and closer, as Zachary Cain laughed, a deep jarring sound that sounded like Derek's. She continued to crawl forward, mouth open, her jaw swung freely and he realized it was unhinged, broken, completely detached from her skull.

Her glassy blue eyes looked at him, staring and staring and he wanted to scream, to cry, to pound to the earth, to run away and never look back. Her eyes seemed to ask _why did you let this happen, Derek? You didn't protect me._

"Derek?"

He blinked hard. Once, twice. The dream evaporated before his eyes and he trembled. "Leave, please, Chloe," he whispered as his eyes began to burn with tears. When she didn't move, his head snapped up and he snarled, teeth bared. Fear flashed across her face and his chest tightened. "Derek, please."

He didn't ask her to leave again.

He just curled up and cried, for the first time in years, as she rubbed his back and whispered sweet nothings in his ear.


	13. In Which Derek Talks Abouts His Feelings

13

The dreams got worse and worse; he'd wake up screaming her name or, sometimes, with his sweats soaked in urine. Those were the worst.

Chloe never said anything about them; she just kissed his forehead when he woke up and helped him until he calmed down. Each dream grew worse and worse. The latest one, however, sent him into hysterical crying for two hours. Oh god, he didn't even want to _think_ about it.

He lay in her arms, shuddering as the tears slowly stopped dripping down his face and he was able to sit up. "Derek," Chloe whispered, softly, "What's—"

"It's nothing."

She threw him an angry look before she got up, slammed the door and walked back. "Tell me." She looked tired and angry and upset but he really, _really_ didn't want to tell her. "It's—"

"Bullshit!" she shrieked, her hands flying down and catching his sweatshirt. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair fell into her face and she looked like Dream Chloe did, hair in her face, eyes wild, crazy. His dream sputtered out behind his eyelids.

Zachary shoved the gun in his hands as Chloe crawled closer and closer; she was naked again, split open. He wanted to scream. "Kill her, Derek," Zachary said and he fired a shot into Chloe's head. The bullet ripped through her brain but she kept going, kept crawling, dragging herself along inch by inch. Wisps of hair escaped her ponytail as her glassy eyes met his. Derek began to cry.

"Derek." Real Chloe was above him, holding him, rocking. She was crying, too; he felt it drip down off her chin, onto his face.

Zachary let out a laugh as Derek fumbled with the gun, the bullets tumbling to the ground. The monster that used to be Chloe came closer and closer, screeching with ripped vocals. He dropped to his knees and picked up three bullets. His fingers shook.

"Derek, please, please, tell me," she begged as she kissed his wet face and he started crying again.

The bullets slid into the chambers and he clicked the safety off. _Bang,_ went the gun the first time but she kept crawling and Zach kept laughing and Derek kept crying; she looked broken, her jaw hanging off from his shot.

"Don't leave me," he gasped out, clawing at her, his nails scraping. He tugged her close to him and she was curled up against his chest, trembling—or was that him? He stroked at her hair, curls tangled in his hands. "I had to—he gave me the gun—you wouldn't stop—" he babbled as tears gushed down his face.

The second shot through her nose and he could clearly see the bullet's path through her skull, see the woods behind her. She dragged herself close, slowly, like she was barely hanging on. He nearly vomited. The third and final bullet went through her skull, again, and she went still. Zachary giggled in the background.

"I-I-I—"

She stroked his sweaty hair out of his face and he sobbed into her neck, clinging to her like a child, breathing in her comforting scent. The tremors slowly faded into nothingness and he stopped crying; her shirt had a large wet spot on the chest. Embarrassment and shame welded up inside his chest as she shushed him and stroked his hair.

"I-I…my dad…he—This one was the worst," he began quietly, balling his hands into angry fists. "Zachary was there. I was there. You—You were there but you weren't _there,_ you were a zombie. He killed you and…flayed you open." He didn't have the guts to look into her blue eyes and see the disgust in them. "The first dream, I woke up before anything happened. They kept getting worse and worse and tonight—tonight was the worst. I-I-I—" Tears filled his eyes and he cursed, wiping desperately at his eyes.

"I had to shoot you. Three times." He swallowed hard. "I was crying in the dream and Zach was laughing like a damn hyena," he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He felt queasy.

"I kept fumbling with the gun and I d-dropped the bullets," he mumbled, tugging at his shirt. "And i-it took me three tries until y-you stopped moving." He curled in on himself and closed his eyes, exhausted, but not wanting to sleep. If he slept, Zachary could haunt him and make him do worse things to Chloe, like dismember her or burn her or—

He shut down those thoughts and squeezed his eyes shut. Chloe started to sing quietly, a song that sounded familiar. "Day Dream Believer," she muttered, smiling quietly. "My mom used to sing it to me all the time when I had a nightmare as a kid," she explained when he cocked an eyebrow.

He was so tired, so sleepy, so terrified; he wanted to sleep but if he slept, he'd wake up screaming and crying all over again and he really needed to stay awake to keep the nightmares away. He snarled a yawn as Morpheus tugged at him, embracing him. His eyelids bobbed as he fought to stay awake, his sweatshirt damp, his hair sticking to his face but Chloe pulled up the blankets and crawled in next to him, humming that one line over and over and over…

He turned to Chloe and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her against him. She was solid and safe and warm in his arms, not half-rotted, dead and cold, clawing at the ground, crying out, desperate to be freed from her prison. He pressed his face against her chest and breathed in and out, arms tight around her waist.

Her hands stroked up and down his back, tracing patterns and words as she hummed softly, hummed Daydream Believer by the Monkees and it made him relax, the sound of her beautiful voice, despite being horribly off key. She dropped a kiss onto the top of his forehead and he closed his eyes tighter, focusing on the beating of her heart.

Steady, firm. _TH-THUMP._

He fell asleep to her heart drumming and the off-key singing of Daydream Believer and there were no nightmares.


	14. In Which Things are Light

14

She constantly worried about him. With the looming court date with Miss Enright, she had every right to be worried. He'd mostly healed up but his broken arm was still healing. His bruises were faded but people still stared when she took him to dinner or the park to watch her little cousins.

"Is it so bad that I'm worried?" she demanded as he scowled at a corner, shadowed by darkness. They were at the park, watching the neighbor's kids play. Well, actually, only Chloe was supposed to watch them but they were too much for her to handle alone so she brought Derek as back up.

The sun was at its peak and it was humid outside. Kids screamed around them and kicked up gravel; moms and dads told their little kids to stay away from the "big bad man with bruises", Chloe heard a mom tell her little girl.

"How's your arm?"

He shrugged like it was no big deal. "I doesn't really hurt," he said, biting into his popsicle. The ice cream man had come and she'd brought them (and the Johnsons's kids) popsicles. And wet wipes. She laughed to herself as she rounded up the kids and wiped off their sticky little hands and fingers and laced her own hand with Derek's. Janet bounced on his shoulders as the boys sword-fought with sticks.

"Dominic, Isaiah, stop it," Derek said sharply to the two boys, who dropped the sticks. Jeremiah hugged Chloe's hip and sucked his thumb, blinking big, grey eyes at her. The boys were content to twitter about the Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh cards they'd gotten on the way to the park. Janet was chattering Derek's ear off as she smoothed and spiked up his hair, her little feet swinging.

"I'm guessing this is what it's like to have kids…when they behave," Chloe giggled. Derek's good hand slid into hers and his fingers squeezed gently. By the time their parents were home at six thirty, the kids were asleep, watching reruns of Steven Universe.

All of them were curled up in their spots. The boys on the couch, the girl curled up in the middle of the blonde mom's rocking chair. The moms—it was a same sex couple and Chloe thought it was the cutest thing ever—hugged them both and slipped twenties into their back pockets.

On the way home, Chloe stopped Derek and asked him to bend down. He obeyed and she climbed into his shoulders. "I feel _so_ tall!" she laughed as she ran her fingers through his soft, silky hair. He rumbled something that might've been a laugh as he shook his head and they headed home.

Aunt Lauren was already in the kitchen, burning popcorn, when Chloe unlocked the front door and pranced in, followed by Derek. "You burnt popcorn," he said, scowling at the smoldering bag. "I put it in for too long," she admitted with a chuckle. "How about we order pizza?" Chloe suggested, waving the twenty in the air. Lauren agreed. "He can eat one by himself," Chloe said.

"Order from Carson's Pizzeria," Derek rumbled. "It's my uncle's place."

"Your uncle runs the best pizza shop in Buffalo?" Chloe said as she spun around to face her boyfriend. She noticed the door was still open and thought she saw something…Derek closed the door and slid the dead bolt into place, the click making her feel somewhat safer.

"It's okay," Derek told her, stroking her hair. She smiled and excused herself to take a shower and get changed. She could feel his eyes follow her up the stares. Maybe he was admiring her butt.

The bathroom steamed up rather quickly as she ran the hot water, a prickling crawling down her spine. _It's just nerves,_ she told herself as she quickly stole a 360 around, looking for shadows or mysterious figures. Nothing. She chanted over and over _it's nothing_ as she sank into the hot water—oh, the soap just hit that huge scrape on her knee from tripping yesterday—and yet, she continued to look around, to look for shadows.

The mirror was fogged up and the window too; she could see fine. Everything was sluggish and muggy, like on a hot day. Chloe felt sleepy and sank lower into the water, feeling her eyelids close slightly. The doorbell rang and jolted her awake.

She glanced at the clock. She'd been asleep for maybe ten or twenty minutes. She slowly rose and washed away the soap suds and, as she wrapped up in a fluffy pink towel, she noticed something on the mirror and the window. It looked like a faded handprint, far bigger than anyone's she knew (well, except Derek maybe), and two more smaller ones on the window, like someone had been peering in.

Her room was on the second story, there were no vines or trees that anyone could've climbed and she felt a chill sweep down her spine. Ghosts weren't real. It was probably just her eyes playing tricks on her. Yeah, that's what it was. The room was muggy and she was half-awake so it was easy to see things.

In fact, when she looked back after she dressed in the linen closet, the handprints were gone. Derek rapped on the door. Asked if she was okay. She threw her wet hair into a ponytail and answered the door with a grin, leaning up and kissing his lips gently.

She had to stand on his toes to kiss him.

"Let's go eat," Chloe suggested and they headed downstairs. Feigning that she needed to dry her hair a bit more, she doubled back upstairs and checked her windows. Locked. All of them. It felt like someone was watching her.

She glanced around, saw nothing but still felt chills. She even shone a flash light on every dark corner, every shadowy place. Nothing. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

The smell of greasy pizza beckoning, her stomach rumbling, Chloe slipped out of her room and closed the door. She thought she saw a shadow under the door.

"Chloe!"

"Coming!"

She ignored her paranoia and headed down stairs.


	15. In Which There's a Father

15

"You see," Diane said, pacing the length of the courtroom, looking at each and every jury member intensely, "this isn't the boy's first run in with the law. His father—"

"Objection, irrelevance. My client's first few years of life, and whatever his biological father may have done, is off the table. He knows nothing." The judge squinted at Derek's lawyer before sustaining the objection and his lawyer sat back down. Diane cleared her throat.

The courtroom was hot, stale and Derek was sweating profusely in his form-fitting suit and tie that was uncomfortable and he really just needed some cool air. He pushed back his hair. "As I was _saying_ , this isn't the boy's first run in with the law. Just last year, he got into a physical altercation and broke a youth's back. And before _that_ , he was brought in for questioning about the disappearance of a thirteen-year-old girl last seen walking home with him."

Derek gripped the table and sucked in a deep, angry breath. The air expanded his lungs and hissed through his teeth. "In middle school and grade school, he was known for his short temper and violent outbursts, often ending in fights with his classmates. Even the teachers were wary of him."

"Objection. Aren't all children under the influence of their hormones, including uncontrollable emotions? Do you expect a _grade-schooler_ to not take their anger out on something? Or, in my client's case, someone?"

"Sustained."

Diane bristled but continued, her flash of anger smoothing out into calm. Derek could feel his heartbeat in his throat and closed his eyes, patting down the hair that refused to stay gelled back. How was Royce going to wiggle out of this one? Chloe still had the bruises which were much too small to be an imprint of Derek's hand.

"Your Honor, the defense calls Liam Malloy to the stand."

All of his dirty bag-ness rose, swaggering down the aisle. His long hair was brushed back into a ponytail that the girls ogled at secretly and his suit hugged his lean, muscular physique; Derek's fingers bit into the wood.

What was Diane playing at?

* * *

"Are you afraid?"

Derek glanced up from his phone, finding Ramon standing there, dark eyes unreadable. His dark hair, twice as long as Liam's, was brushed back into a braid down his back; he looked far more presentable than his fairer counterpart.

"What?" Derek asked.

"Are you afraid?" Ramon crossed his arms and shook his head, sighing softly. "Royce never likes having his play toy's taken away," he muttered, kicking at the ground. His black loafer left a scuff. "He considers Chloe his play toy," he continued, flopping down next to him, "but then again, he sees all women and men as objects. Me? Nah, I'm not into women, not really." He brushed lint off his pant leg as Derek sat there, unsure of what to say.

"Don't worry. I won't be hitting on you any time soon," Ramon laughed at Derek's red face. "But there are…others…that have dealt with Royce and Liam. They just kind of drag me around."

"Why are you telling me this?" Derek cocked a fat, black eyebrow at the other man. "I've done some terrible things while I've been in Royce's company but now? He's going overboard. He's got connections and he's not afraid to use them." Ramon rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully, staring off into space.

"I know all their names," he said slowly, glancing curiously up at the stained skylights with a squint. "I actually—" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of half-empty gum with a lopsided grin. "Want some JuicyFruit?" he asked jokingly.

He was so different when he wasn't hanging around those asses, Derek realized as he watched the other boy's hair gleam under the sunlight. He watched as Ramon rifled through his pockets, searching for something.

"Here."

It was a rumpled sheet of paper. With loopy, blocky handwriting.

_Kristen Jones._

_Alexandra Mcawlee._

_Rachelle Rodgers._

Rachelle Rodgers…she sounded familiar. "Rachelle Rodgers?" Derek murmured. "Rae? Isn't she the one who tried to beat you with a bat?" Ramon asked softly, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. Derek's arm throbbed in response, like it didn't enjoy hearing one of his two attacker's name. He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Bronzy skin? Copper hair? An annoying penchant for high heels that you can break your heels in?" Ramon grumbled, popping his bubble as he scooted closer to Derek and then went still, his eyes closed, resting in a patch of sunlight.

The silence was golden.

* * *

 

And here they were, back in that damnable courtroom, Derek's blazer laying on the back of his chair, sweating profusely, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he tried not to think about Ramon's letter.

He'd given it to his lawyer, who entered it into evidence as the defense called forth Ramon. "What is Derek Souza like?" Ramon cocked his head. "Rude." A few chuckles rang out and the tips of Derek's ears burned.

"Sure, he's not the _most_ sociable guy but he's an honest man. He's loyal and gives you the truth, whether you want to hear it or not," Ramon said, glancing in Liam's direction, who was angrily scrawling across his notepad. Derek glanced down at his own notepad and saw he'd doodled like weird monkeys with human heads in the margins.

"Next," called Diane with a smug air about her, " the defense calls—"

The doors slammed open loudly and a ripple exploded through the crowd. Derek didn't care to turn around. It was probably Royce or maybe Royce's uncle, Dr. Banks. But, he couldn't figure why Diane was looking very much like the cat that swallowed the canary.

He glanced up and froze.

The man was tall, and muscular, indicating extreme physical fitness. He wore a crisp, black suit and a dark tie; his black hair was cut short and his dark stubble nearly swallowed his mouth. His dark eyebrows were set above intense, electric eyes. Several tattoos peeked out the collar of his shirt.

"How would you describe your relationship with the defendant, Mr. Cain?" Diane asked softly, smiling predatorily at Derek. Mr. Cain shifted casually before relaxing back into his chair.

"He's my son, Derek."

"And who are you?"

"Zachary Cain."


	16. In Which There Are Lies

16

The man was staring _straight_ at Derek, without an ounce of kindness or curiosity. He was just…cold, not even a glimmer of light in his dark, dark eyes. He was like ice, not an inkling of emotion, although a faint curve of a smirk crossed his mouth, like all of this amused him. _He's like an animal toying with prey,_ she thought faintly.

Chloe felt a shiver run up her spine as the gasps swarmed around her; people shot to their feet and started shouting. _Not for Derek,_ she realized dimly, _but_ against _him._ Her head spun as a woman elbowed her in the nose and she fell back into her seat.

Derek twisted around to look at her and a fire that burned a thousand times brighter than the sun flared in his eyes; he was reaching for her and she for him and the minute their fingers brushed, she felt a jolt of reassurance.

 _It's okay,_ said a voice and Derek's wide green eyes looked at her pleadingly. It was his _voice_ inside her _head._ She must've looked frightened because he murmured, "It'll be okay," out of the side of his mouth as he stroked hair out of her face.

"You're a menace, a monster, a disgusting, vile beast!" yelled the woman who'd elbowed her. Chloe clenched her hands around his. Someone shoved her and she lost her breath as the railing connected with her stomach. Fingers laced into her hair and she screamed, trying to twist away. Derek leapt to his feet.

"Order!" screamed the judge, smashing his gavel but the roar of the angry crowd drowned him out. Someone slapped the back of her head. She started struggling even harder, kicking and slapping at the scratchy hands. Derek pounced, landing gracefully, yanking her up against him as he balanced dangerously on the railing.

" _Don't touch her_!" he snarled into the sea of angry faces, his voice booming loudly, and someone burst out screaming. He stroked at her mangled hair, attempting to untangled it; he ran his nose along her jaw, his breath fluttering gently, softly, making her shiver. The courtroom quieted as if under a trance; there were more than a few vacant expressions

"Sh, Chloe, it's okay," he whispered to her, rocking her gently as he eased himself off the railing, cradling her, his heart pounding against her trembling hands. He was the only thing holding her up; her legs were far too weak to hold any of her own weight so all she could do was cling to him and sob softly, her face stinging and head throbbing from slaps.

"Mr. Souza," the judge said firmly, "The jury will disregard the violence. As for the audience, they will behave or face contempt. Thirty-five minute recess." He tapped his gavel and the courtroom was quiet for the longest time; Chloe sniffled continuously and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Hey, hey, better?" Derek whispered, shooting glowers out at the crowd.

"Y-yes, thank you," she murmured, feeling utterly embarrassed and helpless as he examined her puffy eyes and scratched jaw. The look he threw at the crowd was murderous as she pulled away, wiping away runny snot with the rough fabric of her tweed jacket.

Derek looked strikingly like the bad guy in movies, his hair combed back and out of his handsome face, strong and capable and frighteningly dark. Something crashed up like a wave inside her, a primal urge to flee rising.

He looked at her with nothing but worry in his eyes and the notion that he was bad that had been swallowing her slowly fell away, folding in on itself. "Let's get out of here, okay?" he whispered. She managed a nod.

* * *

 

The air was warm and knocked back Chloe's chills as he slid an arm around her, his lips on her hair. Kit was looking around anxiously; Simon chattered away reassuringly in her ear. "Thanks," she said quietly, wiping her eyes.

"So that's your old man, huh?" said a voice and Royce slinked out in front of them, dressed in a nice shirt and crisp pants.

Behind him was a girl in her Sunday's best, pristine copper braids pulled into a half ponytail; her coppery skin gleamed like real copper under the sun. Heavy lashes framed dark eyes. Seductress-red lips parted, revealing a cattish smile.

"Rachelle," she choked out, the name flashing across her brain violently, and the smile flashed darker. "Yes. Have we met?" the girl said in a raspy voice, like she smoked; chills crawled up Chloe's spine as though someone had dropped an ice cube down her back. "Why are yo—" she started quietly but Royce stepped forward and his predatory grin swallowed up her vision.

She stepped back quickly and Derek wrapped an arm around her. "We're going to testify," Rachelle said with another smile, but this one aimed at Derek. Chloe slid her hand into his and he gave it a squeeze firmly, reassuring her. She tightened her grip and he gave her a smile softly, a short, quick one that was wiped away as soon as she blinked. Maybe he hadn't smiled at all.

"See you in court, So—wait. Isn't it Cain now?" A dangerous, hard smile flashed across Royce's face.

* * *

 

The courtroom was hot, stuffy, and crowded. Most of the people in the benches were gone now. It was just her, Derek's family, her family, and several powerful-looking people she didn't recognize. Chloe's head was spinning slightly as she peeled off her tweed jacket to reveal a simple pale pink blouse with a high collar and clean cut sleeves. Royce, who sat high and mighty in the witness stand, stared at her with glittering eyes and an unfeeling smile that made her want to layer in all her winter jackets.

"Mr. Banks," began Diane, looking crisp and sharp in her red pantsuit, heels clicking but he cut her off with a boyish grin that was meant to disarm and disable.

"Call me _Royce._ " He practically purred it. "Had you had any encounters with the defendant before?" A sneer curled in the word _defendant_ and Chloe bristled.

"Yes."

"How?"

"He killed my little brother, Austin. And he broke my best friend's back."


	17. In Which There's a Mother

17

Derek pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth as Royce's smug face looked at him. He oozed triumph and arrogance and Derek wanted nothing more than to beat the other boy to a broken, pitiful mess. "That's _outrageous!_ " cried Derek's lawyer, shooting out of her seat so fast that she knocked back the chair.

Chloe's frightened eyes were locked on Royce as he smirked and sat back, lapping up the chaos like Hades. She radiated fear and anger, a sharp, burning rage that surprise Derek. Every inch of her body was trembling and she was turning red-faced, her chin quivering and her lips twisted into her mouth, a crease appearing between her thin, pale eyebrows.

Her skirt was bunched and wrinkled in her teeny, tiny fists. "That isn't true," she growled out. He gripped the edge of his table as the words flowed. _May never walk again._ The doctor after the fight.

 _A menace, Kit; your boy is a menace._ The judge at the court hearing.

 _He's not even really your boy, Mr. Bae._ The school's principal just before the fight.

 _I'm_ not _your son._ Derek's younger self as he was brought into the strange family of the Baes.

"Mr. Souza has broken a youth's back during a very violent attack," countered Diane, a cruel edge to her smooth words. Sweat pooled under his arms and along his back, making his shirt stick; he wiped at his face. His gorge rose painfully, hot and acidic and vile, in the back of his throat. Something akin to tears filled his vision.

"There was a broken brick in the boy's backpack that pierced his spinal chord. Those records were expunged from my client's record," Wang said firmly.

The judge was listening to the argument with a stern look, his face growing darker and darker with each bob of his head left and right, his eyes flickering between Diane and Wang. He was twisting his wedding band as he licked his lips, watching them banter.

Horror was slowly fading out of Derek's chest, replaced by a heavy, constricting fear and worry. His hands went cold and his breathing got shaky. Every inch of him was on fire, like he was burning alive, but his fingers and feet and lips were burning like ice had been stuffed into the skin.

He needed air, fresh, crisp air; he was drowning, water filling his lungs, refusing to leave, filling up up up. He jerked away from the table, digging a finger into his collar as he struggled to breath. Black lines crossed his vision, firing rapid. Sweat rained down into his eyes and he blinked harder, his muscles shaking.

"I think your client needs some air," mused the judge as Derek's face burned like fire, his lips fingers toes stung like the bite of cold, frigid snow. The room tilted sideways as he rushed out of his seat and scanned the crowd for Chloe's familiar, warm face. He couldn't see her.

* * *

 

He _did_ however, see that girl who'd been hanging onto Royce, waiting by the vending machine, filing at her nails. She looked bored and excited and tired and alive all at once; the sun glinted off her coppery braids and rained down like moonlight, turning her golden and bronze and copper, a myriad of colors that made his head throb.

"Rachelle, right?" he said, his voice too husky. She glanced up at him through long, long lashes and stared, mouth puckering like she'd bitten her cheek. "Who wants to know?" she bit out. "Where's Chloe?"

Just the _mention_ of his girlfriend transformed her from dull and tired to angry and manic, her lips peeling back, revealing bubblegum pink gums and stark white teeth and a pierced tongue. She looked rabid and calm all at once and his visions doubled on itself, like it was folding.

For a split second, he was afraid and then he remembered he outweighed everyone by about two hundred pounds and several feet and remembered how he wasn't afraid even when Rachelle was smashing that bat into him, the crack

crack

crack

echoing like gunshots in his ears so he stood up straighter and glowered down at her.

She shielded her eyes from the sunlight and snorted in disgust. "How would _I_ know?" she sneered and moved away. He watched her leave, hair bouncing like it was a skirt, and he shattered into five hundred pieces of relief and fear and confusion as she turned to someone and smiled.

The woman looked strikingly haunted when she saw him, her green eyes staring

staring

staring—

almost like she'd seen him before.

* * *

 

"And how long have you known Mr. Cain?" Diane asked, flashing red nails as she ran her fingers through her hair. The courtroom was too hot, too stuffy, and his mouth was dry and he really, _really_ wanted water, or maybe a pool so he could swim and never have to listen to Diane's grating voice.

"I've never met him," Derek told her, staring at the man who claimed to be his father. They looked so alike, they could've been brothers—except for the eyes. _The eyes._ Derek's were bright, shattering green; Cain's were cold, brutal black. Cain just smiled and held up his head in his hands like a morbid Death painting, holding his head on a platter, looking grim and handsome and powerful.

Someone coughed and, _finally_ , the AC kicked on. Ice cubes of cold air rushed across Derek's hot skin. "So you're saying you had no idea he was your father?" Diane pressed harder, lips thinning out into a hard, bleak line.

"Yes. I was adopted by my dad when I was three," he explained softly. When he said _dad_ , Kit looked at him like he was the proudest father ever and Cain just stared with those empty,

empty

cold

dead

eyes of his, twisting a curl around his finger in a morbidly dark impression of a teenage girl. _It's kind of hard to think_ you're _my biological father,_ Derek thought darkly, narrowing his eyes. Noticing the narrowing of his eyes, Cain sat up straighter and then let out a long, slow smile. _What're you up to?_

"Do you know who your mother is?" Diane asked suddenly. Derek blinked away the sweat streaming as he shook his head. "No." She smiled, lipstick red peeling away to reveal glossy, professionally-whitened teeth, almost sinister.

"I believe you haven't met her. Miss Souza—"

_That's my last name._

"—Would you tell the court who your son is?"

A average-sized, willowy woman with long, caramel-brown waves and fair skin and his green

green

green

eyes stared at him, looking tired and sad and like a princess in a fairytale. She wore a long, black blouse with lacy sleeves, a long, black skirt and a black necklace that rested against her painfully protruding collarbone.

"He's on the stand right now," said the woman who'd been speaking with Rachelle, staring at him.


	18. In Which He's a Stranger

18

It was like a kick to the gut. All the oxygen in Derek's lungs exploded in a gush of air that made the microphone pinned to his lapel squeak with feedback as the woman smiled, wringing her pale hands. Wisps of honey hair framed her thin face.

"I don't have a mother," Derek said but his voice was choked, like he was fighting tears. Chloe wanted to wrap her arms around him and feel him open up to her but, now that she looked at his glossy eyes and clenched jaw, the way his hands were white-knuckled and gripping the edge of stand so tight, she knew he would never open up to her in the way she did to him.

She steeled herself.

* * *

 

The jury would debate. Everyone had to go back to their normal lives. Simon was unusually quiet as Tori talked about maybe going to the mall with Liz. Kit's eyes strayed over and over to the woman who was speaking quietly with Derek, his back to them. She touched his cheek and he looked at her, closely; the only sign of his discomfort was the way his shoulders sat high and tense.

"I've _never_ heard him mention any parents," Kit sighed to Chloe as they sat in the sunlight on a bench outside. Simon had to take his insulin. Tori had to pee. Chloe was watching Derek from behind her hair, head bowed, gazing through her eyelashes.

He looked like he was trying too hard to look bored; his chest strained against his dress shirt and his arms bulged against the fabric of his sleeves, creating lumps and wrinkles. His hair was starting to fall again, into his cold eyes that seemed to gleam a bit. The woman— _Miss Souza my ass,_ Chloe thought darkly—smiled and laughed and touched his arm in a way that was too casual.

"Chloe?" It was Kit, shielding his eyes away from the glare of the sun. His mouth was open and he looked ghastly pale. "Kit? What's—" she began but he shook his head and smiled, looking a bit greenish.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, "but this heat is _killing_ me." They headed to find some shade. Chloe couldn't help but notice the strawberry-haired man staring at her from across the road; he was crouched beside a huge, burly Pitbull, who whined and strained against its leash and greeted him like an old friend. A chill crawled up her spine.

Even from the distance of thirty feet, she could see his eyes.

Blue _just like hers_.

* * *

 

"I can't _believe_ her!" Tori growled as she punched her fist into her hand, fuming over her mother. "Oh, wait, I _can!_ " Simon was asleep, curled up, head in Chloe's lap, and she absently stroked his beach-blonde hair; his reassuring presence felt solid and calmed her worries.

She glanced over at Derek, who hadn't looked in her direction or even _acknowledged_ her since the trial, and that stung. She wanted to be there for him but he was shutting her out. She stared at him for a minute, looking at the familiar sharp planes of his cheeks, the curve of his nose, slope of his lips, those lips she'd kissed forever ago. Now he was just a cold, beautiful stranger with cold, beautiful eyes and a familiar voice.

As if sensing her, he turned his head and their eyes met. The air clogged in her throat, a thick fist crushing her windpipe as his familiar, blank eyes looked at her, his lips remaining a thin line, not a muscle twitching. He looked like a perfect stranger she thought she knew.

She was wrong.

oOo

Aunt Lauren was trying to cook, which meant she must have some guy coming over, and Chloe would have to be on her best behavior. "Chloe?" Sighing, the girl turned to her aunt.

Lauren Fellows was about forty five, with just beginning to grey blonde-brown hair, perpetually worried grey-blue eyes and freckled skin. She was dressed in a pantsuit, which wrapped to the contours of her lean body and brought out the freckles.

"I'm having someone important over," she said, leaning against the banister. _Wow,_ Chloe thought as she headed for the landing, _she went all out._ Lauren even shaved, and Lauren _never_ shaved, like, _ever._ This guy must've been really, really, _really_ important.

"Good for you," Chloe said, despite the tightness in her throat that threatened to give way to tears. Derek wouldn't answer her texts or calls. He wouldn't come say goodbye to her when Kit dropped her off. He just gave her this cold, dead stare, like a corpse. _Fuck him,_ she thought weakly as she clenched her fists and blinked away the hot tears.

"Please be good."

It was at the top of the stairs that she decided to answer.

"Aren't I always?"

* * *

 

The water burned her skin as she sank into it, hair piled high on her head. The steam was a cloud of worry and doubt, curling into her ear and settling over her brain. Her teeth clicked and chattered as she closed her eyes.

Downstairs, Lauren was clattering away, attempting to cook. _He must be very important,_ thought Chloe as she stared down at the scar on her knee from falling while running.

That felt like light years ago. Before Rae. Before Royce. Before everything and anything and nothing at all. Her mouth tasted terrible and she wanted to close her eyes and sleep for a little while. Instead, she got to her feet and washed until her skin was raw and painful and her hair felt squeaky clean. Her legs were smooth, with the exception of her scarred knee.

Knees, legs, feet pounding the ground. She needed to run soon. She changed into a nice, warm sweatshirt and jeans and threw her wet hair into a ponytail. She looked miserable. She pinched her cheeks to bring back color and looked a bit happier, if not sleepy.

"Oh!" Lauren cried as the doorbell rang. Chloe's bare, damp feet touched the cold wood floor as the door swished open, a gust of warm air blowing into the house. A man's voice flooded the floor, bringing in the smell of freshly cut, damp flowers and cologne. Her eyes narrowed.

She saw his back. Lean build, long legs, cute butt. Strawberry blonde waves pulled back into a short ponytail. A tattoo peeked out from the collar of his flannel shirt. He turned, caught sight of her and her stomach plummeted to the floor.

"Chloe, I'd like you to meet—" Lauren began but the man shook his head and dropped down to Chloe's level. He had a friendly, open face, with reddish stubble building into a beard around his mouth and furry caterpillar eyebrows set over crystalline blue eyes.

"You—" Chloe scrambled back, panic seizing her and she tripped, falling onto the stairs. She bounced. Lauren looked confused and worried, stepping forward towards her.

"You were at the court house…watching us." The man stared at her for a minute, and then burst into laughter, rocking back. Was this guy _crazy_? When she looked at her aunt, Lauren was biting back a smile.

"Chloe—" began the crazy man as Chloe shot to her feet. "You were smiling, you crazy jack—" she cut in.

"Chloe, please—" Lauren began softly and reached for her, fingers brushing her arm but the blonde girl jerked away.

"—Don't _Chloe, please_ me! This guy's crazy—he stalks teenagers!" she continued.

"Damn it, Chloe!" her aunt exploded suddenly, grabbing her arm hard. Chloe froze, mouth open in shock as the man quietly slid between them and broke her aunt's grip. The old bruises that had yet to heal, actually, throbbed; Lauren's eyes narrowed at the bruises.

"I see you have yet to heal," the man said softly, smiling in a weird way. "What do you mean?" Chloe was playing dumb and her aunt's jaw clenched harder. "Derek Souza, Zachary Cain's only known heir."

He was smiling still.

She wanted to punch the smile off his face.

Turning, she spotted her running shoes, abandoned, by the den. Quietly, she walked over, plopped down and pulled them on. They were cold and slightly muddy from her last run. "Who are you?" she asked, crossing her arms. Outside, the sky was darkening, threatening rain. She wanted to run. She was going to run.

"Chloe, the reason I was there is because I'm your uncle. My name is Ben. I was your mother's brother." He was smiling still. Chloe smiled back slowly, tensing her muscles, and then shot passed them, squeezing out of her aunt's grasp.

"Chloe!"

"My mother would've told me when she was alive if she had a brother."

She fumbled with the doorknob, threw open the door and ran.


	19. In Which There is a Lot of Rain

19

Breathing was diffcult; running, however, wasn't. Every footfall jarred her cold, tired body but she kept pushing, ignoring the stinging, frigid rain stabbing at her skin; water streamed into her eyes and blurred her vision. Each breath wheezed through her teeth and it hurt to breathe, actually; every lungful was a pressing discomfort down in her sides and her stomach.

Her legs were shaking; her unused muscles quivering. Her wet ponytail slapped between her shoulder blades, sending a cascade of even colder water down her back; she shivered but ignored it. Tears stung her eyes as she slipped, crashing into the ground. Rocky shards of concrete dug into her legs as she sat there, panting; her stomach was rolling in on itself, threatening to have her get sick.

 _I'm you mother's brother._ Same strawberry blonde curls; same baby blue eyes; same nose. Different hands. Different faces. She closed her eyes and cried for a moment, letting the rain stab at her. When she opened her eyes, Chloe saw through a blur of tears a pair of headlights cut through the dark rain.

"Chloe?" A man's voice. Coughing. Wet footsteps. Big, brown boots. "Chloe, it's me." A hand touched her arm, gently. Something warm and dry and musky draped over her shoulders, shielding her from the rain. A strong arm wound around her waist as she slumped, fighting to keep her eyes open. No use; she could feel a weary sort of sadness blanket her and the soft lull of a familiar truck became her lullaby, shifting into a pitchy version of "Daydream Believer".

* * *

 

A door opened softly and closed even softer. A rustle of fabric brushing against itself; something clattered quietly. "Wake up, hun," whispered a soft voice. Familiar. Chloe rolled over and opened her eyes; a man with long black hair and green eyes stared down at her.

Derek.

Her heart soared into her throat and planted itself there as she bolted up; he shook his head. "You were collapsed on the side of the road," he explained in a clam way, smoothing her hair away from her face. "I-I-I…I have an uncle. He followed us to the court house. I was so overwhelmed that I just—I just ran and ran and ran until I couldn't and I'm so glad you're okay but you've been ignoring—"

"Eat."

The soup was hot and probably burned her throat but she kept tasting cold, harsh rain; every nerve in her fingers and toes was burning like fire, regaining heat. Derek never left; he just sat and watched her eat in an almost unsettling way; his eyes were calm but his body was coiled like a hungry, fierce animal ready to pounce.

It occurred to her that she'd never once seen him relaxed, not even when he'd fallen asleep during their Friday night movies, despite how tired he sounded and the bags under his eyes. "A-are you g-go-onna eat?" she asked softly, offering him a spoonful. He shrugged and hugged his chest, ignoring the spoon.

"I already ate," he said but she could see the lie in his eyes, the strain in his voice; she knew it all too well; it was what she used to do during the first few weeks after her mother, refusing to eat or sleep, haunted by her mother's glazed eyes and the stench of death.

"Here." She kicked back the covers and gasped as hot pain shot through her knees, staining deep to the bone, shattering her brain into a million fragments. Through tear-filled eyes, she saw something white covering her knees. Her trembling fingers brushed it; Derek made a soft sound in her ear and she realized he was holding her in his lap, stroking back her curls, gentle and kind; his voice right in her ear, close enough to feel the moist, hot breath on her skin.

He stroked away her tears and it was only then that she realized she'd been crying; a head poked in, looking tired and worried, suit rumpled and hair mused. Her dad. "Are you okay, pumpkin?" he asked, a crease sharp between his thick, blonde brows. Locks of sandy-brown hair fell into his face and it was then that she noticed the shadow of stubble stretching across his jaw. Stubble, she realized, taking in his sad, tired brown eyes and messy clothes; there was a drool stain on his cheek and his eyes were half-lidded.

Why wasn't he in Berlin? "Aunt Lauren called me," he murmured sleepily, meeting her eyes slowly, "She was hysterical and crying and she was barely coherent." He took a deep breath as he shuffled in, looking more like a sulky child than a forty-something man. It reminded her of the days before Aunt Lauren crammed herself into every crevice of their lives, her dad sitting up in his room, a zombified version of her father, sitting in his underwear all day, reeking of whiskey and scraggly beard sticky with cereal crumbs.

"It's unlike your aunt to be that way. It turns out you'd stormed out after finding about Ben."

"Why didn't she ever tell me about him?" Chloe demanded, ignoring the pain in her knees and gripping Derek's instead, feeling his reassuring presence. Steve rubbed his face tiredly. "Because he looked like her so much; we thought he'd upset you. Plus, he's had a lot of trouble with drugs. Been to prison."

"And I don't have a right to know my family? My _mother's_ family?" Her voice cracked midsentence and she sounded stuffy and whiny, like a little girl crying. Tears burned her eyes and she clenched her jaw, refusing to cry.

All she'd done to cry. _It's funny,_ she realized, _how Derek's suddenly here when I need him. Maybe I was too hasty. Afetr all, he_ just _found out about his father and mother in the same day at the trial that's supposed to send him to—_ Juvie? Jail? Prison? Technically, he was a minor but Royce had influence.

"Just leave, please," she whispered tiredly, brokenly as the tears flowed down her face in hot, burning streams. "Both of you. I want to be alone."

Derek didn't argue; neither did Steve. He gave her a sad smile and floated away like a broken shell; Derek, however, lingered and murmured something.

Her stomach plummeted.

Either it was _I love you_ or _I'm so sorry._


	20. In Which There is Police

20

It took her hours to calm down.

During that time, Steve explained the situation to Derek. "He's been in and out of rehab and, for Chloe's safety, we couldn't let him within the same _state_ as her. If he could find my wife…" His voice cracked and his eyes went glossy and wet like he would cry. "…then he c-could find our daughter."

"So he's schizophrenic, a drug addict and an alcoholic with a very nasty temper? How is he not locked up?" Derek said, crossing his arms. Why didn't they tell Chloe that?

Steve nodded.

"I may not have known my father but I think it's a shitty move to hide something like that from her," the black-haired boy whispered, pushing himself up from his seat and excusing himself without another word.

As the door closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of Steve curled up in the chair, crying.

* * *

 

She was wearing his sweatshirt and a pair of boxers when he walked in. Damp hair clung to her cheekbones and neck; she looked gorgeous in his clothing. His cheeks burned and she turned red-faced.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. She squeezed her hair with the towel and crawled into his bed. He followed and kicked off his sneakers, weaving his way through the mess of comforter and sheets to wrap his arms around his girlfriend.

"I've been a total asshole lately," he whispered against her temple, pressing his lips there. "I just…When I find out something big, like I had broken that boy's back in Sacramento, I shut down. I pull away. I retreat. That's what I did in foster care. It's a self defense mechanism. Lots of the foster kids did it. I saw more than one beating where the kids had gone—" He stopped himself from opening her pretty blue eyes to the uglier side of foster care and started over.

"The problem is I clam up. I distance myself and let the people I care about slip through my fingers." He shuddered against her, feeling hot tears press against the back of his eyes.

"I don't ever want to lose you, Chloe. I've…I've had feelings for you ever since freshman year; I noticed you but you never noticed me. Too busy with Nate or drama friends or trying to get to Miss Van Dop's class on time to notice me. We had classes together and I'd just stare at you all day; you're so beautiful."

He pressed his lips against hers gently, his cracked and slightly salty from his tears. He felt his heart shattering into a million pieces and drew her into his arms, breathing in her soapy scent ( _Jesus Christ, she smells like me_ ) and holding her, memorizing every curve and plane pressing into him. Her butt pressed deliciously against his upper thighs and she was flushed against him from collarbone to hips, every curve, every swell pressing against him and he pressed his lips desperately against hers.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, staring down brokenly into her big, ocean eyes. She shook her head. "I love you," she told him and froze, mouth opening and closing and his heart soared. "Chloe…" he began hesitantly and her cheeks went red as she froze under his touch and buried her face in his shoulder.

"I love you more," he continued, running his fingers through her hair. He pressed his mouth against her shoulder, sighing. "You're my entire life and I would die without you," he murmured.

When she pulled her face away from his shoulder, she had the biggest, dopiest grin on her face and tears running down her cheeks.

"You're such a dork…but you're my dork."

* * *

 

Someone was pounding on the door, loud and angrily. "Chloe!" a woman's voice shrieked and Derek bolted awake, snarling a yawn. Chloe slept peacefully beside him, curled up against his arm, her cheeks flushed and lips swollen from his kisses.

Smacking a kiss on her temple, he left her to investigate and found her aunt standing on the porch. Immediately, he went into Normal Derek Mode and crossed his arms, drawing himself up. "May I he—"

"Give me my niece!" shrieked Lauren. "She's sleeping; she's had a lot to deal with in the past few days and needed some peace and quiet. Calm down," he said and just then she walked into the kitchen, sleep-tossed and adorably cute. He wanted to kiss her. "What's all the…racket?" she asked between yawns, running her fingers through her hair. "Your aunt," he replied simply, scowling.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and felt her trembling. "Ah, ah, don't go outside. You'll catch a cold." Derek wrapped his arm around her shoulders and steered her back into the house, ignoring Lauren following them. He intended to bring her back up to his room but decided against it; he hated for strangers to be in his room, especially the very pissed off aunt of his girlfriend who already didn't like him. She always acted like he was some delinquent who was going to sell her niece on the black market and that got on his nerves.

"Chloe, you were _here? All night?_ " With her suggestive tone, Derek's ears burned with embarrassment. "Yes but Chloe and I didn't do anything, if that's what you're getting at," Derek growled softly, flexing his fingers into fists before stalking away to grab Chloe a blanket from the linen closet down the hall.

As he came back, he paused.

"He's a delinquent!" cried Lauren, her voice thick. "He's not. He's got straight As and he's in college level classes, all except English," Chloe replied, her voice calm and cool. It sent shivers up his spine and he bit his lip hard, listening to the conversation.

"I don't like the fact that you disappeared in the middle of the night, stayed at some…some _monster's_ house all night, and didn't even call! I thought you were hurt, or killed, or lost, —or—or—" Lauren was stammering.

"He's _not_ a monster, Aunt Lauren. He'd never hurt me! Which is hard to say the same for you. You shoved me into doing everything you thought a little girl should do at my age," Chlo spat, "even though I had just lost my mother and my daddy was a mess! Fuck therapy; ballet will help!"

A loud smack resounded and Derek rounded the corner, staring in surprise. Lauren was cradling her cheek, her eyes wide and face paling as Chloe stood there, her shapely butt facing him. "If you're done insulting me in my house, Miss Fellows, I suggest you leave."

"I'm _all_ you have, Chloe," Lauren sobbed, her cheek red beneath her pale, veiny hand. "No. I have Derek, my boyfriend, and his family, and my father. Grow up a bit and treat me like a young woman, not your sister."

Lauren turned away, tears falling fast and walked out hurriedly. Chloe collapsed in a pile of tears.

"I'm so sorry, love," Derek cooed as he wrapped her in the blanket and kissed her hair. Hopefully, tomorrow would be better.


	21. In Which The Silent Screams Shatter

21

She felt heavy and exhausted as Monday rolled around. Sunlight streamed in as she wrapped her arms tighter around her pillow, burying her face in it. It was unusually warm, chasing away the mid-morning chills from the low temperature. Groaning quietly, she stretched out her toes and fingers and heard the quiet pops of the bones, slumping down onto the mattress.

Which was moving up and down in a slow, steady fashion, like someone fast asleep. "Chloe," whispered a man's rumbling voice as hands settled down on her back, the breathing never faltering. "Get up, baby girl. Your knee is crushing my bladder."

In an instant, she was up and staring into amused green eyes. Derek. Her cheeks were on fire as she scrabbled onto her knees, only succeeding in tangling herself in the sheets. He was pulling himself into a crumpled upright position, snarling a yawn and pinching the bridge of his nose; he wore nothing but sweatpants and her mouth went dry at the sight of his chest.

He was all muscle, with a hint of softness.

What _happened_? She sat there, curled up as he rose from the couch and headed down the hall to go pee. Her mind was racing. _What happened? What happened? Oh my god, did we—_ All of the sudden, it clicked. Everything fell back into place. The events of yesterday…the events before yesterday…Derek's mother and father…

Chloe flopped back down and buried her face in the pillow, curling up on herself like a dying flower. School wasn't important, she told herself, blocking out the light and trying to smother the sounds of the house coming to life.

The entire weekend felt like one huge, horrible, terrible dream. She sighed and slowly relaxed, falling back under the lull of sleep.

Surprisingly, no one disturbed her.

* * *

 

It was 1:04 when she woke up. The house was quiet, with exception of the dogs who occasionally passed her. "Good afternoon," said a voice from behind her and she rolled over to see Kit standing there, dressed in a Chicago university sweatshirt and holy jeans and thick fuzzy socks; his long hair was braided.

He smiled at her. "The kids are at school, although Derek wanted to stay home with you," he admitted with a laugh, his dark eyes watching her calmly as she sat up slowly and stared vacantly ahead.

"My aunt…she hasn't—" she started, voice soft.

"Not since yesterday," Kit interrupted her, walking over and sitting down carefully. "Oh." She laid back down and he rubbed her back gently; tears blurred her vision and began to roll down her cheeks.

"Why is everything turning bad?" she whispered as she cried, letting him rub her back. "I don't know but, sweetie, things will turn around. We just have to have faith."

Too bad she lost that a long, long time ago.

Things weren't going to turn around; it was just going to get worse and worse until she fell off rock bottom.

* * *

 

She went home just before Derek came home.

She found her clothes, freshly washed—courtesy of Tori, surprisingly—and slipped them on, jeans and a simple black hoodie over her bra. She felt better than she had in days, wearing her own clothes; she hugged Kit goodbye and walked out.

It was only a fifteen minute drive to her house from his; walking, however, was twenty. She hunched her shoulders, pulled up her hood and headed home.

* * *

 

The house was empty when she unlocked the front door. Quickly, she locked it back behind her. She hadn't been in her room since…it seemed like forever. Every inch of her body ached for her bed, familiar and comfy, and she kicked off her wet sneakers as she headed for the stairs.

Working to unbutton her jeans, she started up the stairs and glanced around. The house seemed cold and desolate.

The doorbell rang. Anger boiled in her chest as she ignored it and decided to take a nice, hot bath. _Again_ , the doorbell rang. And _again_ , Chloe ignored it. She knew it was rude but she couldn't find the energy to care; she just wanted to unwind in her house for _once_ without being interrupted by crazy aunts or dead animals in her room.

She sat down at the top of the stairs and looked at the side window panels beside the door through the banister. A blur of a sleeve, maybe a coat sleeve, hit the doorbell again. _I don't care,_ she told herself firmly; she didn't want to open the door and see who it was—no, she wanted to relax and maybe cry and eat some ice cream for dinner.

The ringing continued.

She continued to ignore it.

And that damn doorbell kept _ringing._

* * *

 

She fell asleep in the bath at two and woke up, with a loud yelp, at five. The water was cool by now and a film of soap made her grimy; she washed off. The ringing had been going on for five hours.

She dried off and dressed in an old t-shirt and shorts, showing off the pale hair on her legs and various scars from running and tripping. Asphalt is very unforgiving on the knees; it's recommended _not_ falling on.

"Who could it be?" she asked the mirror as she splashed cool water on her warm face and watched her expression. Big, blue eyes and red eyelids; bags under the eyes and clumpy hair; pale skin and a perpetually frightened look on her face. She took a deep breath and shut off the light.

It was a little after five, five-fifteen. The ringing was getting more and more persistent. Her nerves grated down to the thread, she stomped down the stairs and yanked the door open.

"What?" she spat.

And froze, her eyes widening as she scrabbled back, fear and confusion sliding into her veins as Zachary Cain stood in her doorway, staring at her with his pitch-black eyes, carrying her aunt in his massive arms.

"A-Aunt Lauren?" she squeaked, eyes glued to the seemingly dead woman.

"May I come in, Chloe?" he asked and his voice sent shockwaves down her spine like a sharp electric jolt. He knew her name and he was at her house, holding her unconscious aunt. Something wasn't right but, for now, she pushed it to the back of her brain.

"Yes, Mr. Cain, you may."

And as he headed inside, she glanced outside. Not a soul.

No one to hear her scream for help.


	22. In Which There May or May Not Be Drugs Involved

22

Zachary Cain stood in the parlor, as every bit tall and imposing as his son, her aunt seeming tiny and miniscule in his massive arms. "Wh-what happened?" she managed to ask without stuttering too badly as she led him to the sofa, where he gently lay her aunt down.

"She works with a friend of mine, a neurosurgeon by the name of Margaret. When her car broke down, I offered her a ride. She seemed hesitant but I insisted, you know how dark it gets now and she's a pretty woman by herself in a not so nice neighborhood so I couldn't let her walk by herself," Zachary said, loosening his tie and running a hand through his hair.

The action was so Derek-like that a shudder ran through Chloe as she checked her aunt's pulse.

It was too slow to be normal. The man kept speaking as though he were talking to an audience, his deep voice using quiet tones; Chloe was captivated by the silky depth and richness for a moment before she turned her attention to her aunt.

She was shivering slightly, sweat beading on her skin.

"And it was as I pulled into your driveway that I looked over and saw her unconscious. I thought she was sleeping. I figured her husband or your father would be here," Zachary continued.

"She's my aunt, Mr. Cain, and my father is at work," Chloe corrected him. Something dark flashed across his coal-black eyes as he nodded solemnly, his wedding band gleaming in the light when he leaned close, his tie hanging loosely from his throat.

His hair was messy and wind swept, combed with his fingers. "If you excuse me, I must take my leave," he whispered, his warm breath heating her lips. Tongue against the inside of her teeth, she nodded and watched his back as he headed outside.

"Until next time, Miss Saunders." The grin he flashed her was all sharp teeth like an angry animal playing with its prey.

As soon as his car disappeared down the street, she called 911.

She knew the signs of a drug overdose when she saw one.

* * *

 

"Zachary Cain was at your _house_?" her father demanded, the pinks of his gums flashing as she quietly recounted what had happened. "I'm pretty sure he drugged her, but I don't have any solid proof," Miss Wang murmured, biting the end of her ballpoint pin as her shoe jiggled from the ends of her tiny toes. Her short, wispy black hair was a bit frizzy that morning and Chloe understood; it was nearing 6 am and they were in the kitchen, hunched over steaming cops of coffee (at least for the adults; Chloe had hot chocolate) and relaying what had transpired.

"He knows where you live?" Miss Wang whispered, her sleepy eyes focusing animatedly on the blonde girl. Immediately, her cheeks warmed and she nodded. "He claimed h-he was giving my aunt a ride," she managed to say around a wide yawn.

The doorbell rang and Steve rose, swaying a bit as he shuffled out. "Did he do anything to you?" Miss Wang asked softly, touching Chloe's hand. "No, but I…he was _too_ charming, you know? Like an oily salamander. And he knew my name, even though I didn't tell him and my aunt sure as hell doesn't share my name with strangers." She fixed her blue eyes on the lawyer, who quickly jotted it down, oblivious to her bed head and the ink smeared across her jaw line.

"He unnerved me," she admitted.

"He unnerves everyone," said a new voice and she turned, blinking at Derek's flushed face. All her feelings for him hit her like a tidal wave and she struggled to gather her wits as he struggled to catch his breath. He was dressed in a sweaty tank top and sweat pants and running sneakers, a pair of headphones wound around his thick throat. He was sweaty, and smelled musky; her heart pounded in her ribcage and threatened to squeeze between the bones and flop to the floor.

"Mr. Souza, what are yo—" Miss Wang began but he turned his electrifying gaze to her, giving her his attention. "I came here to see my girlfriend."

"I-I haven't e-even put on a bra!" she blurted, cheeks warming when his eyes flitted down to her chest but quickly turned back to her face. "Let's take a run."

* * *

 

With minty teeth, sweat pants, and a hoodie, Chloe emerged from her house, her curls tied back in a tight, glossy ponytail; Derek was stretching in her front yard, his back to her. She admired his shapely ass and he bent down to touch his toes, stretching the fabric of his sweats tight.

"I know you're admiring my ass," he said suddenly and her face flamed. "But that's okay," he continued as he turned to face her. Laughing, she shook her head and flopped down onto the porch steps, sliding on one sneaker; they were still slightly cold from when she'd run in the rain last week.

Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Ben Fellows since then. Hiding her frown, she laced up her shoelaces and double knotted them. Turning to the other one, she glanced up and saw Derek, twisting at the waist, pulling each arm across his chest. _I want this to work,_ she thought, _but I need you to want this to work too; a relationship requires two people, not just one. If that were the case, Aunt Beth would be married to her hand by now._

She snickered at the thought as she stood and stretched her hamstrings slowly. "What are you snickering at?" Derek asked right in her ear. She smiled and told him.

"I _do_ want this and you aunt would marry her hand? Hopefully, she doesn't grow hair on them." He shot her a grin and her cheeks burned.

"Oh, and just so we're even, I stare at your ass all the time. It looks great in jeans, in yoga pants, sweats; anything at all." He licked his lips, eyes burning into her. "Or maybe nothing."

With a smirk, he set the pace for running, heading towards the woods, and she scrambled after him.

_He wants this to work. Now we have to make it happen._


	23. In Which There's A Twist

 23

Ben Fellows sorted through the black and white photographs on his desk, ignoring the loud chatter around him. Phones rang contentiously, adding to the cacophony resulting in his brewing headache. Rubbing his temples, he scanned the image and froze.

A tall, dark-haired man appeared to be arguing with a willowy woman. Zachary. The mystery mother of Derek Souza, Zachary Cain's son. She had her head turned to the side, staring straight at him—no, at the camera. Like she _knew_ he was there.

Ben swallowed hard as he spread out the photos across his desk. In every scene, her head was always, always, _always_ turned towards the lens, staring straight at him; Zachary always had a flushed complexion and bulging veins. He was always yelling at her. A few of the photos made his stomach tense.

She has dark bruises littering her cheeks, on her neck.

He stared a the photos, brain turning over and over. It was as he turned to an officer, who was calling for him, that it struck him. She knew he was tailing her.

"Hello, Mr. Fellows," said the woman beside the officer, dressed in a simple white tee and jeans, looking like a soccer mom. Big, blocky sunglasses obscured her face but he tiny smile was beautiful. Her long, caramel waves were pulled back in a ponytail and her sneakers scuffed against the ground.

"Hello, Miss…?" Ben said, filing the photos into a neat stand and slipping them back into their manila sleeve. "We've met but you know me as Miss Souza."

The woman pulled up a chair and sat down, rifling through her back as she pulled off her sunglasses. Underneath one eye was puffy and dark with a bruise. Her other cheek was red, like a slap mark. "My real name is…well, don't you recognize me?" she asked softly, a sad look crossing her beautiful green eyes.

He shook his head.

"I need somewhere private to speak with you. This is too…" She paused, squinting her eyes as she looked around. "…Open for my conversation."

"My office work?" He rose quickly and slid the photos under his arm, leading the way.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was staring into the face of someone he knew.

* * *

 

"This is much better. No bugs, secret recording devices?" she said, setting down her bag at her feet as she sat down. She placed a small contact lens case on the desk. "I'm who you think I am; neither is Zachary Cain," she explained, popping open the container.

Ben poured them some glasses of scotch and watched her nervously. What was she—She tilted her head back and carefully squeezed out her contact lenses slowly, placing the in the watery liquid and snapping the container shut. "Much better." She smiled widely and dabbed at her eyes as she put in some eyedrops.

He felt a creeping sensation of dread as she relaxed. "Zachary Cain is manipulating all of us, yourself included, as well as Derek Souza and Chloe Saunders," said the woman, steepling her fingers as she sighed.

Her eyes opened.

His stomach dropped to his toes. "Ben, don't look so startled," the strange woman with now blue eyes laughed, smiling his sister's smile. Anger burned in his veins as he stared at her face. "Who _are_ you?" he spat, struggling to keep himself in his seat and not fleeing out the door.

"You really were horrible with faces, even mine," she snickered, pressing the cool side of the glass to her bruised cheek. "My name," she was saying as she took a sip, "is Jennifer Saunders. Your sister, Chloe's mother and, currently, Derek fake mother. You see…" She stopped, swallowing hard.

"I've just used wigs, styling it differently, even put in contacts. No one except Cain really knows what Derek's mother looks like."

"My sister died of cancer," Ben hissed, feeling his face redden with his rage. "How dare you come in here claiming to be her?" "I figured you wouldn't believe me," she said quietly, reaching into her handbag and rifling about for a while.

As she did this, he studied her face, slowly noticing the resemblances. The spattering of freckles across her nose, hidden under concealer; the scar on her temple from where she'd fallen off her bike; the small nick on her right nostril from falling out of a tree. Some of his doubt melted.

"Here." She placed a locket on his desk, smiling. "Our mother gave one, with a picture of her and Papa from when he came home from Vietnam."

"You're really her, aren't you?" he said softly.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I…I fake my death but only so Cain would leave Chloe alone. Unfortunately, it never crossed my mind that he'd threaten her life as she met his son. Of course, even _I_ didn't know he _had_ a son; no one really did except Agitha."

"Agitha?" Ben echoed, blinking hard as Jennifer combed back pieces of hair from her face. "Yes. Derek's biological mother," she explained, biting her lip as she drummed her fingers against her jaw. "Jen, how…" Her name struck a cord in his chest and his throat ached viciously.

She reached across the table and clenched her hand around his. Tears blurred his vision. "How did you get—" he began. "Zachary wasn't pleased with me. Which really isn't new. He got mad when I fought back." Her lips peeled back as a cold gleam filtered into her eyes.

"I would slit his throat if I had the chance," she admitted, licking her lips. "I've got plenty of blood on my hands for him." She scowled. "He's got everyone under his thumb, bending and twisting. I don't know the entire plan but it involves killing Chloe and my husband if I don't comply."

She bit her cheek.

"He's going to keep Derek out of jail, but only to take him under his wing, play the role as his father, teach him the cruel ways."

She stared down at her fingers.

"He's going to have him replay what he did all those years ago." Her voice broke.

"What do you mean?" Ben stared.

"He's going to have his son kill the love of his life, just like he did."


	24. In Which Running Takes Away the Tension

24

Chloe watched Derek's muscular back, noticing the sharp angles of his shoulder blades as he ran, arms pumping at his sides. She quickly looked away, mind wandering to the caramel-haired woman, her green eyes looking blue in the sunlight. Blue, just like her mother's.

 _Don't be ridiculous_ , she told herself, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her forearm, ignoring the stitch in her side. _Your mother is dead and gone. You watched her sink into the ground, watched the men cover her in dirt, felt the tears run down your face. You were there when the monitor flat lined and the doctors declared her dead._

**_But wasn't there a familiarity about Miss Souza? One that made your eyes burn and throat close up with tears?_ **

_No._

She shook her head fiercely, blinking hard to keep her line of vision clear. It took her a minute to realize this place was familiar, the ground soft under her feet, the trees bowing backwards, like they were leaning away from her. She couldn't see Derek and her stomach tightened painfully as her foot slipped on damp leaves, pitching her forwards.

She barely had time to gasp in surprise before she hit the wet earth, slick from last night's rain, and down a long, prickly ravine. Trees rushed passed her, continuous blurs of brown and black and pale ash, vines catching on her hair, pulling at it. A stick jabbed her in the cheek hard enough to draw blood. Dirt rubbed into her skin, grinding little stones and bugs. She felt something crawl across her cheek and felt furry legs and shrieked, swatting it away.

 _Please don't let spiders be in my hair,_ she begged silently as the sky caught her eye. The sky rolled over the green leaves, then the molted colors of the dying leaves. Sky, trees, leaves, repeat. When she finally stopped tumbling, she lay there for a very long time, feeling the soft, cool grass under her burning cheek.

Once her mind stopped spinning circles, she lifted herself to her knees and tested out her arms. No pain. She got to her feet and winced, a small pinch of pain shooting up from her ankle. Bruises and bleeding scratches littered her legs. "Chloe?" She looked up. It was Derek, running towards her with a look of alarm.

"Shit, Chlo," he sputtered as he crouched down, immediately brushing the dirt and grass off her legs. "Come here," he whispered and slid his fingers between hers. She stared at their hands. He'd been distant for the last few months and now things were thawing out, slowly but surely.

His hand was huge, tanned skin, with bulging veins and a faint, shimmery scar on the web of skin between his pointer finger and thumb. Her hand was tiny, barely even half the size of his, with milky skin and faint freckles, long, white-tipped, clear-coated nails. Two completely opposite people, revolving around each other.

"It's weird to think this all started with that day in detention," she said quietly as he sat her down a blanket. Chloe blinked at the little wicker basket and bottle of non-alcoholic grape juice. "Was this for us?" Derek nodded. "I figured that since I've been acting like a dick instead of a boyfriend, that you'd like this little clearing and a nice lunch. Unfortunately, I didn't count on the slick ground. I'm sorry." He was unpacking various things, cold cut sandwiches and veggies and dips, rooting around.

"Here." He shoved the first aid kit at her, reaching down to pile everything back into the basket.

She burst into laughter and fell back onto the ground, staring up at the blue, cloudless summer sky. "I can't believe this," she giggled. "Do you always bring first aid kits to dates?" He shrugged and the tips of his ears colored, the blush leaking across the apples of his high cheeks. "Only you, Chloe. How do you always manage to bang yourself up like this?" he sighed, a ghost of a smile crawling across his kissable lips.

Now it was her turn for her cheeks to turn red. "I'm too busy staring at that ass," she blurted. His eyes widened in surprise as his eyebrows. "I'm impressed," he chuckled, popping open the lid of the kit.

"Chloe?"

She blinked and turned, staring at the tall, willowy woman. Aunt Lauren. Almost immediately, she shot to her feet and braced herself. "My god, what have you _done_?" Aunt Lauren spat, her face twisting in anger and disgust when she saw Chloe's bruised legs. "The ground was far more slick than I realized," Chloe answered coldly, lowering herself onto the ground, legs out, and wincing when Derek poured disinfectant over them.

"Sorry," he murmured, kissing her shoulder as he began to apply Neosporin over the cuts and sliding band aids over them. "You need to come home, Chloe," her aunt hissed, scowl fading. "Why? So you can belittle my boyfriend and my father and even me again? I don't think so," Chloe snapped.

"No, no, sweetie, it's not—" The doctor's voice cracked and she sniffled, holding a hand against her nose but she wasn't fooling Chloe; she seemed more annoyed. "It's…it's your father," she admitted, looking away.

Blindly, the blonde reached back and grabbed Derek's hand; he never let go.

* * *

 

"I'm fine," Steve argued, picking at the threads of his thick quilt. His hair was a disarray, his jaw drowning under the thick, grey and black stubble; his unfocused eyes rolled about the room.

"Sir," Derek began calmly, placing a hand on the foot board, "You fainted during the middle of a court trial. That's not something you brush off." The wicker basket lay under the visitor chair and the blanket was laying across Steve's lap. He was picking off pieces of grass.

"Yes, Steve," Aunt Lauren continued, a sharp edge to her already nasally voice, "it _isn't_." Steve's eyes focused and narrowed. "Would you stop acting like you're Jennifer? You aren't her, no matter how hard you try," he said softly, his eyes watering at the mention of Chloe's mother's name.

Aunt Lauren's jaw clenched. A knock at the door interrupted them. A pretty, lithe woman stepped in, smiling softly at them, but mostly at Steve and Chloe. Chloe stared and stared, her heart pounding in her chest and sweat slicking under her breasts.

The woman's hair was caramel, like butterscotch and her cheek was pink, like a slap healing; under one eye was puffy, a hint of bruise under translucent powder. But it was the eyes—

She had Jennifer Saunders's big, blue eyes, the same ones Chloe had inherited.

Wasn't she supposed to be Miss Souza?


	25. In Which There Is a Blast from the Past

25

Time stood still as Miss Souza smiled gently, kindly, and the similarity was gone. Except her eyes were still that vibrant, beautiful blue. Just like Chloe's mother's.

"I hate to interrupt but I heard about what happened in court and I just had to send my condolences," the woman said, softly, brushing a curl away from her heart shaped face.

Chloe couldn't tear her eyes away from the bruise or the black eye. "Are you alright?" Steve asked, sitting up as he looked at the woman's face in alarm, noticing the injuries as if for the first time. A sadness filled her eyes as she shook her head and laughed but it was a sound with humor, dry and short, like she was laughing but unable to really enjoy the joke.

"I'm quite alright, Mr. Saunders," she said, patting a hand against her thigh. Chloe's mother used to pat her thigh like that when she was nervous or lying.

"I better go. I hope you feel better," the brown-haired beauty murmured before she turned and glided away, her curls bouncing. Chloe thought she saw a glimpse of blonde hair under the brown.

When the door swung shut, Aunt Lauren turned to them with pursed lips and demanded, "Well, who told her?"

* * *

 

It was obviously Aunt Lauren was in a bad mood, Chloe realized as she crouched down to pull the candy bar from the vending machine slot. _The snappy remarks, the looks, the rudeness, it all makes sense._

"Excuse me?" hissed a voice. Chloe turned. Rae stood there, a hip cocked out and an arm tucked under her heavy breasts, dressed in a pink halter top and a pair of shorts; her hair was pulled into long cornrows and the beads at the ends clicked with each nod of her head.

"Can you hurry—oh. _Oh_." A slick, smug smile worked across her unnaturally pink mouth. Chloe's throat started to close as panic lit inside her stomach, making it cramp. "Hello, Blondie," Rae said like they were friends but her eyes were tired and her voice lacked the malice it normally held.

"H-hi," Chloe managed to squeak out. Her hands were shaking. Rae leaned in close, braids swinging around her bronze face, her eyes filling Chloe's vision, bright brown with flecks of gold and green. Her breath smelled like Doritos.

Her breasts touched Chloe's as her head tilted towards hers. _What is she doing?_ Something cool pressed against Chloe's fingers. Before she could blink or make a noise of distress, Rae had turned and gone.

Chloe looked down.

It was her candy bar.

* * *

 

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" asked a soft voice that sounded familiar. Chloe, who'd been soaking up the sweet sun in the gardens out back, looked up. A pretty, frail-looking black woman was smiling at her. Her face and arms were adorned with bruises and scars. But her smile was breath taking and Chloe felt her heart break a little.

"It is," she admitted quietly, playing with the hem of her running shorts. "How have you been, Chloe?" the woman asked, her smile never faltering.

"How do—" She felt a wave of panic surge up. "I'm Jacinda." The woman's identity came rushing at Chloe. _Rae's mom._ "I-I…things are complicated right now," the blonde muttered, twisting her hair around her finger anxiously. Jacinda sighed.

"Things are always complicated."

She crossed her arms over her chest and Chloe could see the handprints. "Especially when the man I loved beat the shit out of me and I file for divorce and a restraining order." She smiled sadly, like it would make everything vanish and Chloe felt her eyes fill with tears.

"Come here, child."

She did as she was told and the woman wrapped Chloe in her arms, letting her cry.

* * *

 

Chloe met Jacinda Rodgers when she was ten, when Rae was still gap toothed and her friend, her very best friend. She was staying over at Rae's for the weekend and her dad left early in the morning to go buy her mom a birthday present while her mom got a day at the spa.

"You'll love her!" Rae said excitedly as they hopped up her crooked steps two at a time, hands clasped, bronze against milk, wearing matching bracelets and pink Barbie sneakers. Chloe managed a shy smile as her heart pounded in her ears; she always had trouble with meeting new people, especially adults.

When Rae pulled open the door, she laughed as her five brothers swarmed around them. She always spoke about them and described them for Chloe. Now she saw what Rae was talking about.

Ezekiel, Andrew and Aaron were the oldest of them, in their teenage years, all different races and shapes. Ezekiel was tall and railing thin, with a wide, friendly face and smooth caramel skin from his Hispanic heritage; Andrew and Aaron were the only blood siblings with their matching golden eyes and golden skin.

The younger brothers were Owen and Stephan. Where Stephan was the tallest of all the boys, Own was small and short, with a cap of shiny black hair and small, almond eyes. Stephan was the polar opposite, tall and muscular, with a charming smile and long red hair pulled into a bun, his freckly skin gold from too much time outside.

"Who's this little blonde?" Stephan asked, his thick southern twang coming through. Chloe blushed furiously as he turned his grey eyes to her, smiling. "This is my friend, Chloe. Mama knows she's staying here," Rae said.

"Rae?"

A short woman came from around the corner, wiping her hands on the dishtowel in her waistband. Chloe could only describe her as beautiful. She was plump and busty, her hair pulled back into a ponytail away from her heart shaped face, and her big, black eyes stared curiously at everything. Her mouth was big and pouty and pink. Her skin matched the color of Rae's perfectly.

"Oh, hello, darling," she said lightly as she took notice of Chloe. Fear seized up in the girl's chest at the attention and she began to back up, feeling her eyes fill with tears. "Now, tell us why you're crying, sweetie," whispered Stephan's voice as he crouched down, stooping down to Chloe's level. She shook her head and clenched her hands into fists against her pant legs. _Only babies cry,_ someone had yelled to her during recess. Right now, she didn't care. She couldn't handle all the eyes looking at her.

"Chloe doesn't like attention 'cause she's got a stutter," Rae said gently, holding her hand out to Chloe. It was then that Stephan picked her up and swept her onto his broad shoulder; she let out something shrill that might've been a laugh.

"Stephan!"

"We don't judge here," he told Chloe as he began to shuffle around the house. She caught a glimpse of the beautiful woman, Jacinda, she remembered Rae telling her.

"G-g-go-ood," she said and smiled back down at the smiling faces.

* * *

 

Chloe added a new contact to her phone.

The number was Jacinda's but the contact name was _Mama_.


	26. In Which The Plot Thickens

26

Zachary Cain was smiling. The windows gleamed off the sunlight and Derek blinked away red afterimages as he sat quietly in his seat; the court was too hot and he felt sick to his stomach. _You're my father,_ he thought dimly, wiping away the sweat rolling down his forehead as Miss Wang questioned the man with tattoos.

"Sir, would you call yourself the defendant's father even though he knew not of your existence?" Her normally warm brown eyes were like little beetles and they never wavered in their coldness. "Yes, I do. I've spent eleven years searching for him and, when a friend of mine mentioned that he had jury duty for some courthouse with a Derek, I decided to check it out." His smile was cold, like an iceberg and Derek gritted his teeth as his father's dark, emotionless eyes swept across the courtroom, looking at the audience and the jury before settling on Chloe.

A sharp sensation of anger rushed over Derek and he gasped for breath quietly; at the other table, Diane peered at him and smirked, like she knew he was angry. Royce had his head down. "So you're saying that for _eleven_ years you've been looking for my client, searching high and low without ever _thinking_ of contacting him?"

"Surely, he'd ignore it. A random man showing up at his doorstep, claiming to be his father? That's ridiculous and, while it may work in the Hallmark Channel movies, this is real life. He would've shut the door in my face." Zachary's eyes blinked slowly and the smile dropped a bit, faltering when Chloe turned her head away to glance at dark-haired woman beside her.

"So you never once thought of contacting his adoptive father? Of producing paper work and documents?" Wang was glaring at him fiercely, her black hair swaying in the sudden wave of AC that flooded the courtroom. _She'll get him,_ Derek told himself firmly as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, the AC washing over him like an icy river.

"I had no way of contacting his adoptive father, nor did I know the identity of him." The smile was back in place but Zachary's dark eyes were scanning the sea of faces. There was a muffled coughing coming from the pews and then the squeak of shoes, the coughing growing worse and worse. Derek turned his head to see Miss Souza ("Call me Agitha," she told him the day they met) walking out, hunched over as she coughed with a handkerchief to her mouth.

When she pulled it away, he swore he could've seen something red staining the fabric. She looked back at the judge as she pushed open the door, her face tight with pain and her dry lips stained pink like bubblegum. Her green eyes looked blue in the light coming down and he swore he saw wisps of blonde hair tucked within the brown.

She reminded him of a picture he'd seen of Jennifer Saunders, full of life with curls of honey and big sky eyes and a quirky mouth upturned permanently like she was cruising for trouble.

The door swung shut behind her as she doubled over again, coughing.

* * *

 

They took a recess and Derek seized the opportunity to take his family to a nice café across from the courthouse to grab something to eat. Chloe's tiny, freckled hand felt warm and sweaty in his as they held hands when crossing the street.

"You okay?" She squinted up at him as she stepped up to order panini. "Yeah," he said because good boyfriends didn't worry their partners over bad gut feelings and hunches. "It's just so hot in there that I'm sweating like a pig," he admitted easily and her expression changed from suspicion to understanding. "I know." She ordered her food quietly and slid her hand back into his as they headed for the drink machine. He took a coffee; she took a soda.

"Like, I'm sweating in my sundress just _looking_ at you," she laughed, pulling the wrapper off a straw and taking a long sip of her Diet Coke. He nodded and scanned the café, noticing the couple in the back. A boy with short, dark curls and a girl with coppery skin. Royce and Rae. She looked upset about something, her eyebrows drawn over her heavily made up eyes as she spoke fiercely, hunching her shoulders; Royce didn't seem as angry as her, languidly waving a hand through the air as he bit into his sandwich, shrugging when she stabbed a long-nailed finger into his chest.

"29?" The kid at the counter squinted at the ticker Chloe handed him and shrugged. His face was covered in moles and he looked no older than them. "Hey, you're Derek, right?" he asked suddenly and immediately, Derek tensed up. "Who wants to know?" he retorted sharply, glancing back to see Chloe carrying their tray to the table.

"Some lady came in here and gave me this. Said to give to the black haired guy with green eyes. I don't see anyone else with green eyes and black hair unless you count the kid cosplaying Harry Potter with her little geek friends." A quick look in the direction Counter Kid pointed confirmed this; a group of teens wearing robes and carrying wands were crowded around a back table; one of them was obviously female with a wig and big, coke-bottle glasses.

"Here."

It was a manila envelope, Derek realized and blinked at the heft of it. "What did she look like?" Counter Kid popped his gum. "Tall, nice rack, blonde hair and blue eyes," he said. Derek scowled. _Not Agitha._ Curiosity gnawed as he slid it into the inner pocket of his blazer and headed over to the table. _Who has blonde hair and blue eyes?_ He glanced over at Chloe, who was trying to figure out to take a bite without being messy but gave up and was smearing cheese all over her face.

 _No, she was in the courtroom the entire time._ Stumped, he picked up his sandwich and his teeth sank passed the crispy crust.

* * *

 

Hiding in a stall before court was back in session, Derek tore the paper open and a million photos spilled out. Black and white and colored photographs, some blurry and others in harsh HD; each one had a picture of a light-haired girl with sad, downcast eyes. It was a sucker punch to the stomach, knocking away the breath in his lungs. A key landed in his lap as he looked through the photos.

_Chloe._

He looked at the envelope.

**She's next.**

_Next for what?_ He was terrified to find out.


	27. In Which He Isn't Himself

27

Derek wouldn't look at her. As much as she wanted to believe she hadn't done anything, Chloe couldn't help but feel wounded as his green eyes skimmed right passed her and stared at someone next to her, a pretty girl with frizzy braids.

 _What's so amazing about her?_ She thought fiercely, scowling as the girl flushed and batted her lashes at him. _Of course he doesn't want_ you, she told herself, digging her nails into her knees to keep herself together, _he likes them pretty and busty. Guys like big knockers and pretty faces, not little girls with unkempt hair._

Chloe crossed her legs and stared down at her hands for the rest of the court session.

* * *

 

Zachary caught up to her as she headed for the restroom. "Chloe?" he called out and she wheeled, blinking as Derek's father smiled down at her but his eyes remained cold and cloudy. "Are you alright? You look pale," he commented, loosening his tie. He looked handsome like that, hair tousled and eyes staring down at her with interest in them than Derek's ever had.

"I'm alright," she said, pressing a hand to her brow, wiping away sweat. "I'm just a little warm," she admitted warily, flashing him a teeny smile. Zachary smiled back again but something dark kindled in his eyes. Chloe tried to decipher what it was but couldn't make it out. "I'll be back." Turning on her heel, she escaped to the bathroom. Inside, the tile was cool and it smelled clean; there was water on the floor and the counter.

When she stood in front of the mirror, her flushed reflection stared back at her. She didn't recognize the girl in the glass, with red cheeks and wayward curls; she looked glossy-eyed and freshly kissed. Chloe laughed sharply, bringing a hand to her mouth as she leaned against the counter; the girl in the mirror copied her, her eyes never wavering.

The door wheezed open, closed. "Chloe," breathed a voice and she looked up, eyes widening into terrified saucers. Agitha Souza stood across from her, dressed in a yellow skirt and white blouse, her eyes pleading. "You aren't safe here," she pressed firmly, stepping closer; Chloe backed up, sandals fighting to catch a grip on the slick floor. "I'm not here to hurt you," Agitha said, staring her down with intensely green eyes that looked a bit blue around the edges, "but I know who is. And he's standing out there now, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He wants to ruin Derek's life. He wants to repeat the past, tearing his son's lover from him as—" She stopped and quickly backed up, looking around with a squinted, tight expression as though she was expecting to be interrupted at any minute.

Quietly, she reached into her pocket and pulled something out, a faded, worn envelope with soft, curling handwriting. _To whom it concerns regarding my death._ When Chloe looked up, Agitha was peeking out the door and reeled back, wearing an ashy look on her face. "I'm afraid I don't have much time," she whispered, nervously tugging on her curls as she glanced about, "but remember this, whatever he tells you, whatever he does, whatever he leads you to believe or _Derek_ for that matter, he only wants bloodshed."

"What do you mean? How do you know so much?" Chloe demanded as Agitha turned to leave. When the sun caught her eyes, the blonde jumped back in surprise; the green had faded to a sky blue, just like her mother's. Abruptly, her boyfriend's mother began to cough, a loud, wet hacking that made Chloe shiver and, when she drew her arm from her mouth, it came away wet with a red substance. Blood.

"Are you—" She tried as Agitha wrenched her arm free, a look of determination in her blue-green eyes. "I'm fine, but you and your boyfriend won't be for long," she murmured, scrubbing at the blood with a paper towel. Immediately, the girl bristled. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she hissed, anger welding up inside her violently. How dare this woman barge into her life and make her worry about her boyfriend's _father_? More importantly, what did this bitch want?

As Chloe made to open her mouth, Agitha coughed into her hand and the girl could only watch in horror as blood spattered the white granite of the sink and stained the older woman's fingers. "Oh my god," she whimpered as the woman glanced up, her face ashen and eyes watering. "I'm fine," she said even though they both knew she was lying.

Oddly, all anger in Chloe's vein evaporated as she wet a paper towel and handed it to the brunette. "Thanks. I'm telling the truth. Zachary's got something bad, bad planned for you too." Caramel curls bounced as she shook her head, eyes closed while her shaky fingers scrubbed the blood from her teeth. "No sense in scaring everyone," she muttered, eyes nearly shut.

The door slammed open and both women jumped. Agitha dropped down and dropped something on the ground, pretending to look for it as an elderly woman waddled in, took the handicap stall, and all was silent. "Are you alright?" Chloe whispered, crouching down beside Agitha as she wiped the blood from her lips and chin. "Yes." Her eyes remained closed.

"What's wrong?"

"My contacts…fell out."

"Oh."

For a moment, the blonde couldn't think of anything to say. "I have to go. Promise me, Chloe, that you won't let him sway you. He swayed me once and, well, I've got less then a year to fix my mistake." Agitha's smile was sad and familiar, heart breaking as her pink lips twisted away from her mainly clean teeth. "Let me see your eyes," Chloe breathed, desperate as she grabbed the other woman's arm on the way out.

"Chloe," Agitha warned fiercely. Her dark brows drew. "Please," Chloe begged, fingers tightening. Sighing, the brunette yanked her arm away and placed a hand on the door, shoulders slumped in a defeated manner. "Goodbye, Chloe," she murmured and drew her into her arms. Chloe froze, unable to move as warm lips touched her forehead, searing it with a motherly heated love until the flush of a toiler broke the moment and Agitha fled from sight.

Chloe dropped to her knees and spotted something silver lying on the ground. It was a wedding band, with an intricate carving lacing the outside and some sort of black stone set in it. _Agitha,_ she thought dimly as she rose, ignoring the old woman washing her hands, and pushed herself into the bright light of the courthouse outside.

And, damn it, Zachary Cain was still waiting for her. She clenched her fist around the ring and began the daunting task of walking towards her doom.


	28. In Which Ghosts are Alive…At Least on Answering Machines

28

Much to her surprise, Zachary was nowhere to be found. The manila folder was burning a hole in Chloe's waistband, seeping its secret into her skin and imprinting her with its inky contents. Her stomach squirmed in displeasure as she felt the edges dig into her back, paper crinkling with each step she took. Her hands shook as she made her way outside, squeezing passed the busy people and muttering half apologies.

She looked for Kit, Tori or, hell, even _Derek_ but she couldn't see them. She reeled and stumbled back, hitting someone. "Oh, goodness, relax," Ramon said with a smile, holding up his hands in a mocking surrender gesture. Her stomach ached now. "Hey, what's wrong?" His face hovered above hers and, before she could answer, she lurched passed him and puked into the huge trashcan.

He rubbed her back gently and kept her curls out of her vomit. "Sorry," she whispered as he handed her a wad of napkins and she wiped her mouth gingerly. The world was spinning like a merry-go-'round and she had to sit down on the courthouse's lawn so she wouldn't fall flat on her face. Cool blades of grass dug into the skin of her under thighs. Ramon walked towards the restrooms and she closed her eyes, pulling the folder out of the back of her skirt. The thick paper crackled like wax paper as she ran her fingertips along the surface tenderly, slowly.

 _Maybe it's a death threat,_ she thought dimly, reclining onto the lawn. _Or it could be an apology letter._ She felt the sun on her eyelids and squinted at the dark shadow that blotted out the light. Ramon was holding a slick water bottle and a pack of saltine crackers. "Here." Cold condensation dripped onto her bare knees. His eyes never left hers and she felt weak. "Thanks." "Where's your boyfriend?" He was watching her intently, but he looked languid, casual as though it was every day pastime to stare at girls in an uncomfortably intense manner.

"I don't know," she admitted as she wiped off the condensation with the edge of her skirt. Ramon's head dipped. His eyes slanted a look away. "I can drop you off, at home, if you like," he offered, rising slowly and surely. He was so smooth, so precise in all his movements, never faltering. Chloe bit her cheek as he leaned on the back of the bench, waiting for an answer. _What do you have to lose?_ She asked herself. "That's okay with me," she said, "but leave the windows down in case I get sick again."

* * *

 

"I don't understand," Ramon blurted as they drove down the highway. His hair was flying everywhere and Chloe looked at the silky, black strands escaping his manly braid. "I mean, why does Zachary Cain show up all of the sudden? And how come we've never _heard_ of Agitha?"

After he asked her what was in the envelope, she admitted that Agitha had given it to her but he didn't press after that and steered the topic to Derek's "parents". "There's something off about both of them," she said softly, running her nails along the edge of the seam of her manila folder. "With Cain, it's like he's trying dominate me." When he snickered, she scowled and blushed. "Not like _that!_ It's like…like he's trying to hold back from…I don't know…scaring me but there's something dark about him. And not the good kind. He seriously scares me and I don't like even _thinking_ about him. He drugged my aunt. He knows where I _live_. He's powerful and he's got connections and he _obviously_ isn't afraid to use them to get his way." She paused for breath. "And, another thing, he looks _excited_ when he scares me. If I jump or yelp, he gets this…scary look on his face, like he's lapping up my fear like Freddy Krueger." She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"What about Agitha?" Ramon took the exit that led to her neighborhood. She shrugged. "Agitha…reminds me of my mom." Chloe sighed. "At first, I didn't like her because she was so…I dunno…flirty? Does that sound petty? But then I noticed she touches everyone when they talk with her, so I brushed that off. And she…she came and saw my dad in the hospital. Her eyes were blue, just like my mom's."

Ramon shook his head. "She has green eyes, Chloe," he said. She thumped her head. "I know," she whispered, feeling hot pinpricks of tears stab her eyes, "I know." He didn't say another word.

* * *

 

The house was silent when she unlocked the door and she waved Ramon off. He smiled, waving back, and then he was gone, his black car a blur against the suburban houses and green laws, his taillight fading into the distance. The walls were cold, the floor icy, and she hugged herself fiercely. Every inch of her was trembling, energy dwindling into nothingness and she sucked in a deep breath. It hissed out between clenched teeth as she slammed the door, locking it afterwards. Her skin prickled as she peeled off her sweater.

Shadows crawled on the walls, making her jump in shock, expecting to see Zachary's angular face and intense eyes staring back at her, materializing from the shadows of her house and grabbing her, grinning wide. She took a shuddery breath again. The answering machine was blinking. Twenty-five new messages.

She headed upstairs, stripped down and changed into pajamas. When she came back down, the machine was still flashing so she decided to listen to them as she got something to drink.

**Beep.**

_"H-hello? Chloe?"_ The voice made her freeze, cup of water halfway to her lips. A cold chill swept down her spine and the glass slipped from her fingers. _"I-it's me. I'm so sorry, baby."_ A loud screaming echoed in the background. The woman on the phone sobbed and that broke off into loud, wet coughing. _"I'm so sorry. I n-never meant to—shit, he's home—I'm so—No! Give it back!"_ A loud crack. Someone had slapped the woman and Chloe's skin crawled as she heard the screaming, a man's familiar timbre adding to the cacophony of the woman's shrill crying and screaming.

_"Chloe! No! Don't—ow! Stop! No! Don't touch—shit! Get your hands off me!"_

The message was cut off. Chloe's glass shattered as it hit the floor, shards exploding everywhere. A sob rose in her throat. The woman had sounded exactly like Jennifer, so unmistakable. The man had sounded like Zachary Cain.

What on _earth_ was her boyfriend's father doing with her…her dead mother?


	29. In Which Chloe Is Crazy…Or Not

29

"Don't you see?" Chloe demanded to herself, pacing as she replayed the messages over and over. The sobbing apology, the slap, the screaming and crying, the man's voice. Over and over and over. "Mom's _alive_." Her voice cracked and choked as she smiled, tears burning the backs of her eyes. The house was deathly quiet, the only noise being the backdrop of the AC's humming, painfully loud and continuous. _She's_ alive _and I have to find her!_

She frowned. _If I were a woman pretending to be dead, where would I hide from my fifteen-year-old daughter?_ Chloe flopped down into the loveseat and frowned at the blinking answering machine. Reaching out, she pressed the little button and listened. Hearing her mother crying made goose-bumps break out across her skin, every hair prickling. The slap made her shrink back, imagining the sting. _Where would I hide?_

A thought exploded in the back of her brain and she bolted for her room. Toe throbbing from where she stubbed it on her dresser, she ripped open the doors to her closet and tore passed coats and blouses, ignoring the way they swung over her face. Fumbling for the light switch blindly, she dropped to her knees and ran her fingers along the wall, looking for the little door's seam. Using her nails instead of the pads of her fingertips, they caught on the edge of something and she nearly sobbed in relief.

Wedging the wallpaper away from the door's lock, she unchained the deadbolt and yanked at the door. It groaned but didn't give. Scowling, she rushed to her feet and headed down into the garage, bee-lining for her dad's work bench. A few long, painful minutes of rummaging came up with a crowbar and she quickly scrambled back upstairs. Kicking her clothes aside, Chloe collapsed to her knees hurriedly and dug the sharp edge of the metal into the seam between the wall and the door.

Bracing her feet on either side of the door, she threw all her strength into prying it open. Her hands ached and sweat ran down in rivulets down her body. The door creaked, wood bending, but not giving. Deciding on a new tact, Chloe switched to her knees and pushed with her feet on the doorframe behind her. The crowbar slipped and whacked her between the shoulder blades, cutting into her palms. Wincing, she scrambled to her feet and blew on the burning fingers.

The garage door whirred, signaling her aunt's return. Quickly, she threw the crowbar down and shoved the hanging clothes back in place over the little door. "Chloe?" Lauren called upstairs. Chloe crawled to her feet and slammed her closet doors shut. "Just a minute!" she yelled down in response as she peeled off her sweaty clothes and ducked into her bathroom. Dunking her head under the spray of water in her bathtub, she figured it'd be enough to fool her aunt into believing she'd been in the shower. Cramming on some loose pajamas, Chloe wrapped her dripping hair in a towel.

"Chloe?"

Lauren was right outside the door now. Cold dread washed over the blonde as she swallowed hard and puled open the door. "Oh, there you are! I was so worried!" Immediately, she was swept into a bony embrace. "Why?" Chloe asked, confused. Had something happened? "That Asian woman, what's her name?"

"Miss Wang, the lawyer."

"They found her in her apartment shot to death." Horror splashed inside of Chloe as she wiggled out of the sharp hug to head back into the bathroom. Her stomach was twisting and churning now as she stared at her reflection. "Funny thing, they found an envelope with her. A note and some pictures. To whom it—"

"May concern regarding my death?" Chloe whispered. She was trembling now, teeth chattering as she pushed passed Lauren. The blonde skipped down the steps, taking two at a time, slipping on the last one. How could she have been so _dense?_

The answering machine was still on.

**Beep.**

" _Chloe, I want you—_ " Slap, slap. "— _To know I-I never—meant to—"_ Slap. The sound of shattering glass. Chloe's hands trembled as she ripped at the envelope's flap, struggling to tear it open. When she did, dozens of photos spilled out, all over the floor, the counter tops. A crisp, pristine white letter fluttered out, and then a bulky, familiar object came tumbling out.

" _I love you. I—"_ Someone screamed shrilly in the recording. " _I'm doing what I can to fix my mistake._ " Something in her head was turning, over and over. She was so close that she could taste it. She shakily unfolded the letter. _Dear Chloe, I never, ever meant to hurt you. I want you to have this. I know I led all of you on to believe I'm dead and gone, buried in that casket, but there's so much more to that false story than anyone knows. Not even_ him. _Baby, I'm closer than you think. It'll be okay. I promise. I love you. I love you so much that I'm going to explain this all to you when the trial ends._

_I will ever stop loving you._

The hot tears welding up inside Chloe's eyes were now spilling out, fiercely as she quickly shut off the machine and splashed some water on her face. The steps creaking told her of her aunt's impending arrival. She scrambled to collect all the photos, never once glancing at them—maybe she should have— and then she stuffed them into the enveloped. She crammed the letter in too and tucked the entire thing into the waistband of her shorts.

It was bulky and crackled with her every step but the quiet murmur from the TV muffled it. "Chloe—" Lauren stepped in. "I'm tired. Goodnight, Aunt Lauren. Love you." She pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the doctor's gaunt cheek and fled upstairs. Her fingers shook as she texted Derek.

_Can we talk tomorrow?_

**_Sure. I'll be there at three._ **

_Yeah._

Her tears blurred the letters.

**_Goodnight, beautiful._ **

_Goodnight, handsome._

_He called me beautiful,_ she thought dimly and smiled. _And my mother is still alive!_


	30. In Which Derek's Brainwashed and There is a Reveal

30

"And you're one hundred percent certain that was your _mom_ on the answering machine," Derek stated as he stared out at the city. Their sodas lay untouched, wetting the picnic blanket as Chloe laid out the evidence. "Yes. I-I'd know her voice anywhere," she whispered as she smoothed out the crumpled manila envelope across her knees.

To get away from all the drama of the trial and her crazy over-protective aunt, Chloe suggested a grassy, isolated hilltop that overlooked the city, far away from prying eyes, so eager to tear them apart, for a little picnic. "You know, I've been talking with my…dad," he said, testing the word. "Kit?" she asked, heart beating faster.

"Zachary."

Any feeling in her fingers turned cold. "Why were you talking to _him?_ He abandoned you for eleven years, never tried to find you. He's a bad guy, Derek," she hissed, leaning away from him. "He's not _that_ bad, Chloe," he argued, not looking at her. "He's actually pretty cool and nice. He likes me. He doesn't tiptoe around me like Kit does." His lip curled back in disgust.

"Simon does that too. So does Tori, but she's pretty much like that with everyone. Such a bitch. Your aunt hates me, absolutely hates me," he pointed out, twisting the silver ring on his middle finger—she never gave him that.

She lurched forward, sending the envelope toppling off her lap, and grabbed his hand. "What are you–oh, that?" He was staring down at her, his expression cold and his eyes even more so. He looked like a stranger, with soft, lush lips and uncaring eyes and she looked at the silver band of metal, reading the inscription. _The most dangerous wolves have fur on the inside, ZC._

A thick, hot nausea swept over her, knocking her off balance, and she fell flat on her back. When she sat up, Derek shot a look that screamed _you're weird._ "Derek," she gasped out, the words making her tongue sticky, "he killed my mother. Well, he tried to. He poisoned my aunt—"

"Chloe, stop."

"—He stalked me—"

"Chloe." A growl slid into his tone, belying his calm expression.

"—He came to my _house_ for Christ's sake, Derek! I never told—"

"Shut the _hell_ up!"

It was like a bucket of ice had been dumped over her, shocking her nerve endings. Derek was standing up now, looking too smart in a button down and jeans, sleeves rolled up. Since when did he wear any _button downs_? What the _hell?_ Maybe he was channeling his inner Edward Cullen.

"You need help, Chloe. Professional help. You're sick."

He waves a muscular, hair arm. "You think he made your mother kill herself or whatever?" A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You need help." He adjusted the collar of his shirt and turned away.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and a shrill sobbing whistled out of her throat, high-pitched and warbling. A flush rose to her skin, making her double over. "Grow up," he snapped sharply and heat rolled inside of her, boiling her skin, heating it.

She saw him stalking away, towards his car, and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. "He's up to something," she murmured softly, watching him through a haze of tears, hot and angry, "and he's going to tear us apart. Seems like it's only just begun." She wiped at her eyes, glaring now.

* * *

 

"What the hell did you do?"

Chloe looked up, startled, at Tori, wide-eyed. Tori's dark, angry eyes were smudged with eyeliner and mascara; she looked deathly in a black t-shirt, ripped acid jeans, and a pair of huge, clunky boots. Her hair was wild and knotted like she'd just rolled out of the bed.

"What?" Chloe sputtered, nearly dumping her drink all over the hardwood floor of the kitchen. Tori slapped the table and the lazy Susan jumped with the force of the impact, the spice shakers falling over. "What are you talking about?" the blonde asked, wide-eyed as she scrabbled to set her mug down. "What the _hell_ did you do to Derek?" Tori snarled, glaring. "W-what are y-you—" Chloe tried.

"Stop stuttering so I can hear your bullshit answer," she yelled sharply. Chloe reeled back, tipping her chair backwards as she lost her balance, panicked. Hot, bitter tears stung her eyes as she stared up at the dark-haired girl.

The blonde was speechless, her throat too tight to form words as tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes. Tori's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe that shit?" she demanded and kicked the leg of her chair.

Panic-stricken, Chloe scrambled for leverage to pull herself up but Tori slammed a boot down next to her ear, stepping on her curls, and she shrieked in fear. "You listen to me and you listen to me _good_ , got _it_?" the brunette growled, leaning down to stare Chloe down.

"I don't take kindly to anyone hurting Derek. _Anyone_. He's not exactly the best with girls so it was a huge surprise when he let you in. Now, I know you're a smart cookie." The cool rubber of her boot nudged into Chloe's shoulder. "He came home and shut himself up in his room. Since he met you, he's been more social. He wouldn't talk to anyone but Cain. From a bit of eavesdropping, I figured out _you_ had something to do it. You're sick. You need help. If you so much as _think_ of coming back to him, I'll kick your ass."

The pressure of Tori's heavy boot disappeared.

"I thought you'd be different, but I guess you're just another bitch. Oh, and if you wonder why I'm being so cruel," Tori squatted down beside Chloe, yanking her up by the collar of her shirt, bringing them to eye level, "it's because I don't let _anyone_ hurt my family. Even you." When the brunette's finger uncurled, the blonde fell back and watched as Tori stalked away, slamming the door on her way out.

Chloe's head was hurting as she got up, staring at the empty space in horror and fear. She slowly got to her feet and shoved the chair upright, staring blankly at the upturned spice shakers. Splashes of her tea spattered the table mat.

After pulling on something heavier, she followed Tori's lead and left.

* * *

 

The hill was quiet and cool, cutting through her old sweatshirt. She could still feel Tori's nails biting in, see her flashing eyes, her face contorted.

"Beautiful, isn't it, Chloe?"

When the blonde turned slightly, ice replaced the blood in her veins as she watched Agitha sit down slowly. She looked beautiful, with golden skin and a pretty, pink knitted sweater and pale blue tights but her eyes were blue, not green.

"I guess," Chloe muttered in response, glaring out. "I'm sorry about Derek," Agitha said, placing a palpitating hand on the younger's leg. "Look, I don't want to be rude but I'm really not in the mood for you," Chloe hissed.

Agitha smiled sadly and stood up. "I've missed you so much. How is Lauren? Still working around the clock? She was like that ever since she was little. When we were in grade school, she never played with me or Steve; she just stayed at home while Daddy worked, writing until her hands were black with graphite."

"How do you know—" Chloe started, heart hammering as Agitha leaned down in front of her, offering her hand. "I want to show you something," the woman said softly, smiling in a melancholy way. Chloe's hands trembled and she stared up at the woman, heartbreakingly beautiful against the backdrop of a blushing sunset.

A huge gust of wind came and Chloe jerked back. Half of Agitha's full, brown hair had fallen, lying lopsided on the crown of her skull. But it wasn't the fact her hair fell off so much as the color of her natural hair that shocked Chloe.

Blonde.

A familiar blonde-red. Just like her mother's—no like _hers._

"I've missed you, baby."

A chain glinted around Agitha's throat. It was a simply, silver chain, and the pendant connected to it was blue, like the sky on a summer day. The shock rocked Chloe backwards, sending her sprawling. Agitha straightened and one arm hung limp as she sleepily pulled off the wig, letting loose her curls that danced in the wind.

"My baby," she sobbed, lifting her face to the falling rays of light, revealing her powdery complexion and milky eyelashes and familiar freckles. Shock and anger and happiness made Chloe's eyes weld up with tears.

Jennifer Saunders was Agitha Souza.

“M-Mom?” Chloe rasped out and lurched forward, arms out. Something that sounded like an explosion cracked through the surrealism of the moment and she faintly registered the fact that she was screaming hysterically now, wet blood splattering across her face, her hands, her clothes.

Jennifer crumpled tot he ground, her face frozen in a smile, even as Chloe clutched at her mother's arms, her skin growing colder and colder. Mucus and tears ran down the blonde girl's face. A rose of blood blossomed in her chest, across her left breast.

Chloe heard the click of someone drawing back the hammer of a gun as she pressed her face into her mother's breasts, crying. Cold metal touched her skull. She screwed her eyes shut, refusing to look up.


	31. In Which There's A Gunman

31

The voice she heard was male, higher than she expected, and she didn't recognize it.

Chloe tightened her arms around Jennifer's body and squeezed her eyes tighter, feeling the once-hot blood cool on her cheek, soak the front of her sweater, stick in clumps of her hair.

"Come now," the voice purred seductively, although there wasn't any emotion in it, "you honestly didn't think I'd let Jennifer warn you about the boss's plans." A hand wrapped around her hair and pain lanced down her scalp, hot and white.

She screamed, loud enough to make her eardrums ring, and a hand connected with her face. Blood filled her mouth as her gums ached, the cuts from her teeth hitting the inside of her cheek. Unable to look up, she stared at her mother's lifeless body, lying limp and awkwardly on the grass, her eyes wide and glossy, skin as white as snow, blood staining the pink of her sweater. Tears, hot and burning, dripped down her face, slowly, and the man above her laughed.

"My wife used to cry like you," he informed her, almost bored, "but that was before she had that little bastard."

Chloe looked up from staring at Jennifer's still body and saw a muscular man glowering down at her, his dreads hanging around his face like ropes. There was a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans and he was smiling, showing off the scars that puckered his face. There was something striking about him, rooting her eyes to his face; maybe it was the deep-set eyes or the crooked nose.

"Your…" she trailed off as he let go of her hair. At first, she thought he was going to let her go, but every fiber in her body screamed that he was going to kill her; he was going to make her suffer and her last moments would be full of terror and pain, nothing more, nothing less.

His dark eyes met hers, cold, remorseless. She knew in that moment, feeling cold and sticky where the blood has soaked into her clothes, the wind blowing her hair away from her face and stinging her eyes, her hand on her dead mother's ankle, that she wasn't going to leave alive. Panic flooded her body, icy cold, and sweat broke out across her chest.

"I won't kill you," the man promised, though his hand still reached for the gun, the tips of his wide fingers barely brushing the cold metal.

Chloe tensed the muscles of her legs, taking one last glance at her mother's face, and when the man leaned down to grab the living blond, she bolted to her feet and scrambled for the woods. Tree branches and underbrush ripped scratches into her skin and stung where they slapped at her.

"Chloe! Get back here!" the man bellowed and his heavy footfalls crashed behind her, terrifyingly close.

She sped up faster, wet leaves hitting her legs, her lungs burning. Her arms pumped at her sides as she pitched herself forward, her mind swamped with thoughts of self-defense and her aunt and dad and Simon's smile and Tori's nasty laugh. There was no doubt inside her mind that this was Zachary Cain's fault. If he didn't decide to show up and try to throw the trial into Royce's favor, her mom would still be alive, she wouldn't be getting chased down by a man with a gun, and Derek wouldn't be brainwashed.

Her throat burned with every breath she took; sweat poured down her face, pooled underneath her breasts and along her spine. Her feet slapped down on the ground as she began to zigzag, nearly tripping. She cut across a short ridge she knew would lead to the trail and she cried when she saw it.

The man was still following her.

Chloe ran faster, her thighs rubbery, her tongue and throat dry, and she thought she was going so well…until she tripped. She scraped her palms and knees raw; blood ran down her legs in streams as though she'd started her period. The sight made her stomach turn as the pain registered.

"Get your ass back here, girl!" the man screamed from somewhere behind her.

She pushed herself up, frantically, and yelped when a hand grabbed her ankle and yanked her back down. Her head smacked into the ground, and hot pain stretched across the entire back of her head. Something hot soaked her hair and she creamed, kicking her legs as hard as she could. Her foot connected with something, and there was a crack. What she'd hit moved away and the hand dropped. Still screaming, she dragged herself away and took off sprinting, her throat burning.

The man ran after her, his footsteps getting louder and louder, and then his footsteps stopped.

Something slammed into her, knocking her flat onto her front, and gravel gouged into her chin. Pieces hit her teeth. "Get off—" she tried to scream but he clamped both hands over her mouth to cut her off. His hot, heavy weight pressed down on her, digging jagged pieces of stone into her skin, and she struggled to buck him off, frantic.

"Listen, you good for nothing bitch. I won't let you mess this up for me or boss," he hissed in her ear, hot spittle hitting her ear.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she managed to wedge her knees underneath her belly and put her hands underneath her chest. She angled her head down and shoved with both her hands and knees, knocking him off balance.

He grunted as he fell away and grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt when she stood up. "You bitch!" he snarled and she, stupidly, turned to look at him. Blood ran down his forehead from a cut above his eyebrow and his eye was puffy and beginning to bruise. Sweat made his skin shiny. "I'll cut ya' up, you bitch. Slice you up. Maybe I'll play with you first. Not that there's much to play with."

"You f-fu-ucki-ing pyscho!" she yelled back, horrified at her language, as she kicked his face. Blood spurted down his face. She kicked and kicked and kicked, even after she heard the footsteps of people on the trail, even after she heard someone screaming, even after she heard the rush of people running. She used all her strength and kicked his back, hearing a loud crack, and he groaned, rolling around. She drew her leg back and went to kick him but a hard voice stopped her.

"Call 9-1-1," someone ordered as two hands grabbed her arms and pulled her back.

She screamed and kicked and bit the arms binding her. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" she begged as the adrenaline washed away and was replaced by fear, disgust, and horror. "Oh god…I-I di-did tha-at?" She poke in a low whisper, her voice ragged and tiny. Her hands shook.

"What happened?" a man asked.

"He…he…my mom…oh _god_ …" was all she could say, even when the officers arrived and the ambulance arrived and they questioned her again and again.


	32. In Which Chloe Is Questioned

32

The ambulance pulled, accompanied by a police cruiser and a green Equinox that Chloe knew from a cursory glance at the license plate.

The man lying there at her feet and she could still feel the blood from her mother cooling on her skin, his harsh voice whispering to her, the explosion in her ears.

Chloe bent over and puked in the English ivy that covered the forest floor.  _Oh god, that was…I lost her,_ she thought as hot tears clouded her vision and she sank to the ground. Unseeingly, she stared at the man, the paramedics assessing his injuries, and began to cry.

Her face felt sticky and hot but that didn't deter the tears; they just kept rolling down her cheeks, snot running down her lips. The skin of her knees were raw from the ankles up from where she'd fallen and her entire body hurt. There wasn't a single place that didn't have an ache or a deep-rooted throbbing.

"Chloe!" Lauren screamed, her voice coming to the girl as if underwater, and then in sudden clarity, like she broke the surface.

Chloe lifted her head to see her aunt fighting against the two police officers, still wearing her scrubs and her doctor's coat. It was like the weight in her limbs had been picked up and she pushed herself to her feet.

"Aunt Lauren!"

She threw herself forward, ignoring the stabbing pain in her legs, the taste of vomit in her mouth, and wiggled passed the officers, stumbling over her numb feet.

"What happened, baby?" Lauren whispered against her hair. "Oh god, did he…?" Her hands smoothed back Chloe's hair over and over, like when she was little and had a nightmare.

"No, no. H-he…A-Agi-githa…M-Moo-om," Chloe sobbed, collapsing against her aunt's chest, and they both sank to the ground. "M-Mo-om was Ag-git-itha."

"Sir," a new voice said, and Chloe didn't turn around, didn't want to see the figure that had undoubtedly uncovered her mother's dead body, "we need CSI. We've got a body."

"Ma'am, your daughter will need to come with us," one of the officers, a dark-haired man, who'd been holding Lauren back said, "we need her statement and we need to process her."

"What for? She's a  _victim_ here!"

Chloe sat up, avoiding the officer's eyes. "I u-under-ersta-and," she softly agreed, "but m-my au-aunt is co-oming w-wi-ith us."

Lauren helped Chloe to her feet and the paramedics washed out her wounds with saline and wrapped them up. Once she was okay, the officers helped her and Lauren into the backseat of their cruiser like they were suspects and drove to the precinct.

Chloe rested her forehead against the window and relaxed her clenched hands. When she closed her eyes, all she saw was red and frizzy braids and lifeless, teary blue eyes, and although she was exhausted, she found herself unable to fall asleep.

She bit the inside of her cheek, hoping the pain would distract her from the gaping emptiness inside of her, but to no avail. It was impossible to imagine being so close to her mother, who'd died when she was little, alive and well and speaking to her, disguised as her boyfriend's mom—no, ex now. She didn't focus on the fresh flood of tears that came to her eyes as she thought of their last conversation, him accusing her of being crazy; instead, she drew all her attention on ways to snap Derek out of his brainwashed state.

It was one thing after another. Derek turning on her, Tori threatening her, finding her mother alive, losing her in a heartbeat, the man with the gun. She rolled down the window and let the wind hit her face, breathing deeply to avoid puking. Her hands shook as she twisted the edges of her shirt.

The wind blew around the cab and burned her eyes, numbed her cheeks, but Lauren didn't say a word as the officer took road after winding road, forest blurring passed them. Eventually, they reached the precinct and she was separated from her aunt to be stripped.

In a large room, a female doctor asked her to take off her clothes and she did so slowly, aware of how sore she was and how tender her skin was.

The doctor's assistant bagged her clothes for evidence and then the two of them took pictures of Chloe's bruises, scrapes, the blood in her hair, under her nails, the gravel in her chin. They swabbed under her nails and collected some hair that had fallen off. Then, the doctor gave her a thin hospital gown and asked her to sit on the hospital bed.

"We're going to call in two Special Victims Unit officers. Is it okay if you speak with them or would you want your aunt?"

She found her voice. "Yes. I'm okay on my own."

The other doctor, another woman but smaller than the main doctor with curly dreads, gave her a cup of water and examined the abrasion on her chin, picking out the gravel piece by piece. "Sorry, it's not bad enough that we'd put you under."

For an eternity, no one spoke, the only sound breaking the silence was the ping of gravel hitting the metal pan as the doctor picked them out.

The doors opened, and two men stepped in, flashing badges at them.

Chloe closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held it until her heart pounded in her ears, and then let it go.

"Can you tell us what happened today?" the pudgier detective asked, standing next to her.

She crossed her legs, ignoring how it hurt the front of her legs, and stared down at her fingernails, looking at the dirt under them from where she'd clawed back to her feet. "Yes," she said and it felt strange to hear how hoarse she was, feel the dry air rasping against her throat.

She swallowed hard.

The other male detective, with wide-set eyes and freckles, reminded her of herself and she relaxed.

"It's sort of a long, weird story. My mom died when I was…" she began, settling into her long-winded tale.


	33. In Which Kit Appears

33

After the blowout with Derek and being chased by a man with a gun, she hadn't seen any of the Bae family. She figured they hated her, sided with him, and would never talk to her again. That was alright with her.

Tori both threatened and scared her; she and Derek...well...weren't anything anymore, and she wasn't entirely sure they'd ever be able to salvage what they'd been.

The day after the initial report and questioning by both the regular police and special victims unit, she woke up to a loud, persistent knocking at the front door.

Pulling on the first, unfortunately dirty, sweatshirt her fingers landed on, she finger-combed her wild bedhead and climbed out of bed. As she dressed, the knocking continued, growing louder and louder, more persistent by the minute so, once she was dressed and semi-presentable, she threw open her door, nearly tripped on the way down the stairs in her haste, and all but ripped open the door.

She'd been ready for some annoying neighbor or even one of those door-to-door lawn-care people but her breath escaped her in a gush at the sight of the familiar dark, slanted eyes and a long cascade of black hair, streaked with silver. A frowned stretched across the normally friendly, brown face, giving him an usually surly and severe air.

"Chloe," Kit Bae said lightly, but his voice was grave and dark.

She clenched her jaw against the onslaught of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Seeing him brought back stupid, ugly memories.

" _Your fight is with me, Banks, not her."_

" _I'm sure no one can be tired of you, Chloe."_

_His thumb on her hip, hot and gentle._

_Standing on her tiptoes to kiss him._

" _I stare at your ass all the time."_

" _You think he made your mom kill herself or whatever? You need help."_

"Hello, Mr. Bae. Can I help you?" she asked as flatly as she could, biting her cheek until she tasted blood and the pain gave her clarity. She pressed the edge of the door into her palm, steadying herself against the frame to keep from swaying.

Kit's eyes trailed her up and down and she almost bristled. "As a matter of fact, you can, Chloe," he replied, reaching into his coat pocket to pull something out of it. A single ring sat in his palm but she recognized it almost immediately; it was the same one Zachary had given Derek. "It seems my son is being influenced by his biological father. For what, I'm not sure but it can't be good." His deep eyes probed her for assistance but her wounded pride and battered self-esteem couldn't take it.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bae, but how is this my problem? Tori came barging in here, threatening me. Derek called me crazy when I told him about my mom." She gripped the door fighter, nails scratching the varnish. "He doesn't care about me anymore, thinks I'm crazy, so why should I help you?"

"Because he  _needs_ you," the older man stated.

Chloe couldn't help her reaction, anger bubbling up so fast it made her ears pop. "Yeah, well, he's got a pretty funny way of showing it," she muttered darkly, glaring at him. "Completely dismisses my theories about his dad drugging my aunt, blackmailing my mom...yeah, it's crazy but he sicked  _Tori_ on me. He didn't have to do that, but he did. Like  _I'm_ the bad guy."

"Chloe, please," Kit pleaded quietly, his voice low and broken but she lost her patience.

"No, Kit. Derek doesn't want me, need me, or even  _care_ about me. If he thinks I'll come back to him after—after  _that_ then he's got another thing coming. He made it  _very_ clear how little I mean to him compared to his dad, so I'd appreciate it if you just left me alone. Have a nice day," she growled, stepping back and slamming the door.

It bounced back open, and she scrambled backwards as Kit stepped in, smiling now but there was something ominous about the way he did it. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as he calmly closed the door behind him and strode forward.

When he squatted to her level, she yelped in shock.

"Chloe," he murmured, sliding his hands over hers and tilting her head up so their eyes met, "I need your help. Tori doesn't believe me; no one believes me. He's brainwashing my  _fucking_ son and—" He closed his mouth so hard she heard his teeth click, the crow lines around his eyes deepening, and he sucked in a deep breath. Held it. His eyes closed as he exhaled in a long, slow gust. His breath warmed her fingertips. "I can't make anyone believe me."

His voice broke, tired and scared, and she wasn't sure what to say. It was obvious to only the two of them that something sinister was simmering just under the surface of Zachary's sudden appearance—in time with the trial—and somehow, she, Derek's family, her family, her twice-dead mom, Derek, and him were linked; she just couldn't see how. What  _was_ his end game, if there was one?

"I don't think Derek would hurt me," she said slowly, glancing out the window over his shoulder to look outside at the court, "but now...I'm not so sure. There's something dark. He makes my hair stand on end and Derek's becoming just like him. Isolating him from us, relying only on him."

"Like a cult. Like an abuser," the man whispered more so to himself than to her. 

Her stomach tightened.

She chewed her lip anxiously before turning her gaze back to Kit. "I thought for sure you hated me," she murmured, ignoring how hot and tight her throat felt when she spoke and how badly her eyes prickled with the onslaught of tears. Her hands slipped from his only to curl around the fabric of his cardigan.

"No, no, I've been busy trying to gather evidence against Zachary," Kit reassured her.

"My mom..." A deep breath, chewing her lip harder until she tasted the beads of blood. "My mom was Agitha, Kit. Under cover as  _Derek's_ mom. I don't know why she hid for so long or what drove her to do it in the first place but I feel like it had something to do with Zachary."

Kit's grave, deepset eyes lifted to hers from studying his lap. "I believe you, Chloe. We just have to figure it out and get evidence."

His jaw was tight as he gazed out the window over his shoulder.

"I hope, for everyone's sake, that we do," he whispered.


	34. In Which Zachary Breaks

34

Rae pushed open the heavy front door of her apartment building with a grunt and strained to hear her mom's asshole boyfriend; when she didn't, she smiled and hurried forward.

A door slammed, followed by someone's loud TV, but there wasn't any screaming so she kept going.

"Rae?"

She turned just a few feet in front of her door.

Mr. Cain was standing a few feet away from her, his dark eyes locked on her face, not her body—which, honestly, most men just gawked at—and his entire face was dark, broody. He looked very angry.

"Yes, Mr. Cain?" she squeaked, then swallowed and tried again.

Mr. Cain pushed off the door frame he'd been lounging against and stepped closer, towering over her easily. "Have you seen Agitha?" he asked, warily glancing around.

Rae thought about it. Now that he mentioned it, she hadn't seen Agitha since she beat the shit out of Asmondai, and that was a good four or five weeks ago. "No, sir," she admitted shyly, running a hand through her hair, "the last time I saw her was when she helped my mom. Are you looking for her?"

A worried look entered Mr. Cain's eyes, which she thought was odd because he  _never_ worried about anything, and, even if he did, he kept it under lock and key. "She won't pick up her phone and no one's been able to catch wind of her," he muttered, rubbing a big, veiny hand across the scruff of his beard.

"Maybe she doesn't have reception? Or a family emergency," she suggested, but the excuse sounded flimsy and weak even to her.

Mr. Cain shook his head and turned away. Paused, then turned back to her. "If you see her, please, come find me," he said softly.

Rae's face heated up exponentially. He was handsome when he was being ruthless but  _soft_ Mr. Cain was making her putty. "Of course," she agreed cheerfully.

"Oh, and Rachelle?"

Her full name, which usually inspired hot anger, sounded exotic and wild rolling off his tongue. An excited shiver raced up her back.

"Tell your mother Asmondai has been kicked out." He smiled, his teeth a little yellow against the black shadow of his scruff, and then he turned and strode away.

She sighed, watching him go, and headed back home. When she unlocked the door, she called, "Mom?"

"Rachelle, come quick! Agitha—" Jacinda was saying but the minute  _Agitha_ left her mom's lips, Rae turned and darted out, yelling for Mr. Cain. Within a few minutes, he appeared, his normally white complexion pink.

"Yes?"

"Uh, Mom said something about Agitha. I'm not sure...sure what's going on," she admitted, feeling shy.

They walked back to her apartment together and he filled the entire doorway, dominating the space and oozing his undeniable presence. Rae swallowed hard.

"Mom, Mr. Cain's been looking for her," she explained when her mother squawked at the sight of their landlord.

The six o'clock news was on with the words  _breaking news_ flashing across it. "The body of Agitha Souza, a lead witness in her son, Derek's, case against Royce Banks, has been found. She appears to have been shot point-blank in the back at around seven yesterday."

Rae rubbed her eyes, trying to get rid of the sudden stinging, but it didn't help, and she found herself crying silently. Agitha's lumpy figure was shown being carted away on a stretched in a white bag. The black girl's lips quivered as she sucked in several trembling breaths.

"Mom," she said quietly, and Jacinda wrapped her arms around her daughter tightly as she could.

Mr. Cain didn't say anything, just watched the screen with a dark, haunted look on his face, and, while she knew they weren't exactly the ideal couple, Rae knew he was hurting from his wife's loss. 

 _That's_  why she took his hand and squeezed his meaty fingers; not because she wanted to sleep with him, which she really wouldn't be opposed to in all honesty, but because he made her mom's life okay, and he helped her around the apartment sometimes, and he came and ate dinner with them, and his wife was really nice, and she beat Asmondai's ass like it was nothing.

Mr. Cain's shoulders slumped as a low sound broke out of him.

His lips were pressed tightly, but another noise slipped, follow by another and another, and then he was crying, his massive hands hiding his face from their view as he mourned.

"Zach," Jacinda whispered, breaking away from her daughter to wrap her thin arms around the imposing man, and he crumpled to his knees. His low sobs filled the room, and Rae shut off the TV.

For the longest time, none of them said anything; she wasn't sure if it was because there was nothing that  _could_ be said or because there was nothing  _to_ be said.

Eventually, Mr. Cain pulled himself off his knees, avoiding their eyes as he wiped at his face with the inside of his designer suit sleeve, and spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "I'm sorry," he apologized quietly, "I—Asmondai has been kicked out, and if he comes back, I will  _personally_ deal with him."

"Mr. Cain," Rae started uncertainly, watching the massive man get to his feet finally, if not a bit unsteadily, "I—" She stopped, at a loss for words, as his tear-patchy face twisted to look down at her.

A dark, deep rage burned black in his fathomless, and her breath quickened against her will.

"Yes, Rachelle?" His voice, deep and resonating, didn't sound soft or warm anymore; it sounded hollow and bleak, twisted by the grief that he wore so prominently on his broad face.

"We're here for you, Mr. Cain, even if you don't want us to be," she blurted and watched as some of the tension in his jaw relaxed and the tight slope of his shoulders drooped fractionally.

"Of course," he murmured, meeting her eyes, and then he turned and strode away without any of the normal confidence or aggression he usually exuded.

Rae felt her heart break in two for him and his now-dead wife.


	35. In Which Chloe Snaps

35

She was on TV, and Chloe couldn't tear her eyes away.

Kit hadn't left and was sitting in her father's chair, scanning his laptop for information on Derek's father.

"Kit," she squeaked, unable to keep her voice stable, and when he looked at her, the tears began to flow. Her hands shook as she pointed to the screen. Jennifer's body, her  _mom's_  body, was a shaky zoom-in, a pale, freckled leg sticking out of the brush, bruised and scratched, a clump of hair peeking out of the green of the bush she was behind.

"Chloe..." He set aside the laptop and knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her. His warm hand stroked through her hair, and she broke into pieces, shattering apart in his arms. If she hurt him by digging her nails in, he never said a word and simply held her.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been held, truly held and comforted, aside from when she was attacked. Her aunt was too busy for the most part, and her dad wasn't home, and the man who claimed to be her uncle didn't count at all.

"It's okay, I've got you," he whispered against her ear on soft breath, rocking them both into a lull.

The door opened and closed. "Chloe?" came her aunt's exhausted voice, and the click of her sneakers sticking to the linoleum floor with every step.

Chloe clung to Kit and pressed her face harder into his chest.

"Oh."

A stiff, short snort sucked all the runny snot back into her nose and she pulled away, breathing heavily.

Her aunt's disapproving stare met her watery, stinging one, and Chloe found she didn't care—Kit was there for her when her aunt wasn't. Being alone in her sorrow, in her upset was something she should've been accustomed to but she couldn't find it within herself to be used to it right now.

"What's wrong, Chloe?"

The blonde's temper flared as she pushed to her feet, ignoring Kit's whisper of, "wait," and clenched her fists. "What's  _wrong_? My mother's body is all over the TV, I was  _assaulted_ by the man who did it, my ex and his siblings have froze me out, I've been  _beaten_ twice in the last few months. I have no idea what's going to happen, and where are you?"

Unable to help herself, she sneered in disgust and anger. Her hands went up and clutched at her hair. She  _stomped._ "At the hospital. As usual. Ever since my mom died, you've worked twenty-four-seven at that damn hospital! I could be  _raped,_ and you'd still go to work. For years, and years, and  _years_ , I've been second best to work. Second place. I've been alone for years. Dad's never home,  _you're_ never home, and don't you  _dare_ tell me Ben is my uncle!"

"Chloe, honey," Lauren tried.

" _Enough!_ Stop it! You can't suddenly try to make things better! I  _know_ I'm the worst thing that ever happened to you. I  _know_ if I wasn't here, maybe...maybe Mom would and you'd be happy, better off without me." All her wild, hot emotions were bursting at the seams, seeping out, staining everything wildly, and her heart was beating rapidly in her ears, drowning out anything her aunt could say.

Warm, gentle arms wrapped around her shoulders, cradling her into his side. He was speaking, she realized belatedly, shutting down the chaotic situation. "She's been very shaken by her mother's death, and she's coming with me since you are not here to comfort her in this time of need."

"How  _dare_ you? She is  _my niece_ , and I will  _not_ allow some bastard's father to take her away!" Lauren boomed, her eyes on fire as she reached forward and grabbed Chloe's arm.

The blonde jerked away. "No! Like you're even ever home," she sneered, unable to help the disdain and anger that colored her voice, the hurt that oozed out of every pour, tears springing to her eyes, burning them.

"Chloe, honey," Lauren tried, her voice low, tiny, fragile as a bird. "I'm so sorry, baby. I never meant—" Her arms opened and the lab coat billowed as she stepped forward, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Chloe backed up. "You don't get to say that after ignoring me for  _years._ " She pressed herself solidly against Kit's side, his hands on her sides, steadying her, supporting her. "For years, I was alone in my pain. Alone when my mom died. Alone when I was beaten. Alone, alone. And  _now_  you decide to be my aunt?"

Her hands rose up without her permission, and she  _shoved_ her aunt as hard as she could. "I fucking hate you." There was nothing loud in her voice, nothing sweet or humorous; it was cold and flat just like her hurt eyes.

Lauren's mouth dropped open in shock, and tears dripped down her cheeks slowly. "I'm your  _aunt_ , Chloe. I'm all you have! Everything I've done was for you, baby. You wanna know why I work so much? Because I want you to be able to go to college and not worry about the next meal like I did. Because I don't want you to want as I did. My father scraped for every  _fucking_  penny and my mother worked four different jobs. By the time I turned fifteen, I worked three jobs and juggled with school."

She threw down he coat in anger and her bright, glittering eyes met Chloe's. Behind that anger was a soft, hazy sadness that stained her face bone deep. "And that was before I got pregnant and miscarried and got dumped at prom. Before my fiancee died. So you think you had it rough? Try living in your baby sister's shadow, try raising her kid who pays you no fucking attention to anything you say, try seeing your dead sister's face everywhere you turn, being bombarded by the baby you lost, the life that could've been, bombarded by your dead fiancee's _fucking_ face--try  _that_ , pumpkin." Color drained from her face and collected at her throat, vibrant and irritably red.

"Lauren..." Kit began quietly, but she turned away and fled upstairs, her low sobbing punctuating the stunned silence, and when he went to follow her, Chloe shook her head.

"I wanna go."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her outside.

Chloe couldn't even bare to look behind her in case she saw the hunched silhouette of her aunt, and her mind was spinning with all the information she'd never known.


	36. In Which Derek Is Shown

36

 

His thumb had rubbed the glossy sheen off the picture, but he couldn’t help it. He missed Chloe, and it wasn’t a shallow thing; it ran marrow-deep. His teeth and bones and muscles and the very blood in his veins craved her, and it was a wild, feral thing that seized him every time he looked at the creased picture of them.

“Derek?” He looked up at the sound of his name, finding his father leaning against the doorway. Zachary Cain was a lot different than Derek had ever expected—closed off but friendly enough, intense, fierce, and a clumsy piano player.

All his childhood, he’d wanted nothing more than to meet his father—his real father, not Kit, who had his own blood children—but this wasn’t the way he wanted to meet Zachary. He hadn’t expected a tearful reunion and riding off into the sunset, but anything other than being on trial for assault was a good fantasy.

He turned, angling his body towards the man. “Yeah?” Discreetly, Derek tucked the picture under the folded corner of his blankets, out of Zachary’s view. For some reason, he had the feeling his dad wouldn’t like seeing the picture of him and Chloe.

“I want you to meet someone.”

There was a smile on his father’s face, but it didn’t reach his midnight-dark eyes.

Derek was reminded of a wolf, flashing its teeth in both a warning and challenge, and he rose to his feet, one liquid motion that made him a little light-headed. Without a glance backwards at where the picture burned a hole in his mattress, he trailed after his father, nearly standing to his height.

The door clicked solemnly behind him, banishing the picture into darkness, even for a short time; it felt wrong to hide the only tie between him and her but his father was more important. Chloe didn’t understand; she had her father. But she’d also lost her mother at a young age, and the fact she didn’t seem to have a lot of memories ate at her, made her guilty.

Derek pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the close-cropped hair of his dad. “Who is it?” he asked, looking around the long hallway that bisected and lead into the foyer and the entertainment room.

“An old friend.”

The way Zachary said old friend wasn’t full of affection or endearment; it was just as cool and smooth as anything else his father said.

Unease dripped steadily through him as they walked to the foyer, greeted by a tall, bald man that hunched a little. Beady black eyes glared at both of them unkindly.

Zachary’s smile was all teeth and shadow. “Derek, Marcel Davidoff. Davidoff, my son, Derek.” He nudged Derek forward, a firm hand clasping the middle of his back, and the boy stumbled, losing his equilibrium with the firm push from his father.

Derek’s unease faded. When was the last time Kit had ever touched him willingly, not out of parental or clinical duty? When was the last time anyone in his family touched him, a pat on the shoulder, a ruffle of his hair, a one-armed hug?

He felt a smile creep across his face, midnight black and restless, and placed a hand out for Marcel to shake. A friend of his father’s was a friend of his. Marcel’s hand was spidery, with freakishly long fingers, and cool to the touch.

“So this is your son,” Marcel wheezed, a manic grin taking residence across the weathered creases of his face.

Derek’s smiled wilted a little at the crazed look on his face, but his father clasped his shoulder tightly—too tight almost—and the smile flashed bright.

“Yes,” Zachary hummed, his voice low and hypnotic, silky, “he is.”

 

 

Simon wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Tori peered over his shoulder curiously. Her body pressed against his back wasn’t as comforting as he wished it would be.

“What’s that?” she demanded, grabbing the glossy photographs out of his hand, and stilled immediately.

He blinked hard, shoulders hunched as he stared uncomprehendingly at the wood of his desk. The images were burned into his eyes, seared into his mind, and his hand shook; his breathing was unsteady, shallow, panting through his teeth.

“What the hell?” she exploded, a sonic boom in his ear, and he flinched away from her. When he turned to look at her, her eyes were dark and frantic, her face pinched; her lips quivered and her entire body trembled, vibrating, as she spoke, the words tumbling from her mouth.

She looked as disturbed as he felt. “What the hell is that?” she hissed, but her breathless voice caught on the vowels and ruined the anger she tried to project.

The photograph fluttered out of her unsteady hands. It was a close up of a girl, her short hair spilled around her face as though an inkwell had dripped down on top of her head, blankets kicked off in her sleep if the way they hung off the bed was any indication. The scariest part however was the time on the clock—four in the morning.

And the picture had been taken from inside her room.

“Simon? Tori? What’s wrong?”

They both turned and spotted their father, his arm wrapped tightly around a teary-eyed Chloe, who balked at the sight of Tori. Simon thought it was weird for her to react like that but let it slide; they had bigger things right now—like the picture.

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” his sister hissed, her venom shocking even him, who’d gotten used to her back and forth moods for years. But this...this was _different._ Tori was angry and frightened, just like him, but she appeared to have gone from loving Chloe to hating her in the span of a few weeks. What happened? Was there something that happened?

Kit’s eyes narrowed. “Victoria Enright.” He didn’t even have to raise his voice to let her know he was angry with her language and vitriol towards the little blonde huddling into his side.

Her lip curled. “While you were busy playing stand in for Chloe’s dad, Simon got a surprise. Not sure where. It’s a picture, you know. Of me. Sleeping. Taken from inside my room.”

Simon squinted at the photo, searching for clues as to who it could’ve been, and then his heart stuttered as he spotted the reflection in the window. “Tori,” he croaked, grabbing her wrist tight enough that she winced, “ _look_.”

She bent down, ignoring both her father and her other brother’s ex, and froze in shock. Her mouth popped open audibly, and she wheezed, her legs crumpling underneath her. A few centimeters to the left and she would’ve hit her head on the way down on the very corner of the desk.

“What is it?” Kit asked.

Tori shook her head, her breath hiccuping past her teeth, and shrank back.

He came closer, Chloe trailing behind him hesitantly, who was casting quick glances at Tori worriedly, a furrow in her brows. Examining the photograph, his face slowly turned red, then purple, then pale, and then back to red—Simon thought his dad had a stroke.

“That _bastard._ ”

The blonde jerked in surprise, made a quiet noise that had Tori glowering daggers. Simon really wanted to know why things had shifted between them; he’d been left out of the loop it seemed. But he understood his father’s whispered oath; if this guy was in an underage girl’s bedroom at four in the morning taking picture of her, well, even as her brother, he was pissed.

Because standing in the reflection, looming over Tori’s sleeping form, was Zachary Cain. 


End file.
